Wonderland
by Vampiric Charms
Summary: Jordan and Woody learn – the hard way, of course – that they can never escape work. Longer summary inside. Woody/Jordan
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: **Jordan and Woody learn – the hard way, of course – that they can never escape work. Even when they're vacationing in another state. Murder just seems to follow them wherever they go. Those crazy murderers do, too.

**Disclaimer: **Nothing is mine. What a shame.

**xXx**

**Wonderland**

"People who do not understand themselves have a

craving for understanding."

- Wilhelm Stekel

**xXx**

**Chapter 1**

Jordan Cavanaugh leaned close to the body opened before her, taking a closer look at the man's stomach. A strange odor wafted up from the thin walls of the organ, making her wrinkle her nose in disgust. "Hey, Nigel, come smell this for me?"

The man in question glanced over at her from where he was standing before a computer. He'd been in the middle of perusing the list of missing people in an attempt to identify the victim Jordan was autopsying and seemed a bit annoying at being pulled away from his work. "This isn't some kind of joke, is it?" he queried, giving her a pointed look before moving an inch.

"Of course not." She grinned as she set down the instrument she'd been holding. "I just want a second opinion."

Nigel walked over to her and gazed at the body. "Okay, what am I supposed to be smelling?"

"Lean a little closer." She stood back and watched as he did so, waiting for him to have the same reaction she'd had. When he too wrinkled his nose, she asked, "It smells musky, doesn't it?"

Nigel nodded. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he weighed their options, his brain quickly putting everything together. "I think you've just found the cause of death." He gave her a lopsided smile. "Hemlock poisoning."

Jordan raised her eyebrows. "Hemlock, huh? Doesn't that stuff grow in the springtime?"

"Yeah," he confirmed. "But that just means that it takes a larger dose to kill a person if it's not fresh. Might wanna run a tox screen, though, just to be sure. Killer might've used the hemlock to paralyze him, then used something else to finish the job."

She pursed her lips, once again lost in thought as Nigel went back to his station at the computer. "I guess I should learn a little more about plants," she mused out loud as she crossed her arms over her stomach. "But then again, that's your specialty. So, any hits from missing persons?"

"Not yet." Nigel hit a few keys, attempting to narrow their search. "I don't think he's from Boston. Maybe not even from Massachusetts at all."

Jordan pulled off the bloody gloves and ran a hand down her face. "What about fingerprints?"

He shook his head. "Nothing."

"And he didn't have any personal affects on him?"

Nigel shook his head again. "Police found him completely naked, save his boxers. A search of the area turned up nothing. Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah." Jordan blinked heavily before meeting his eyes. "Yeah. I'm fine. Just a little tired."

"Aren't we all?" He gave her a sympathetic grin. This was only their second case since the plane crash. Garret was still in the hospital, and Bug had requested a week of vacation time to spend with Lily and her daughter; he was given two, no questions asked. Nigel had also taken a few days off, but was anxious to get back to the morgue. Kate had been in and out, taking charge like nothing had happened. Jordan, though, had delved right back into work. Although she had mostly just been behind the desk, she spent the time catching up on paperwork and refreshing her memory of current cases. And thinking about Woody. She had only seen him once since they were all released from the hospital, and that was when he had given her and Nigel the hemlock victim.

"Have you heard from Bug?" she asked suddenly, worried about her friend. Of them all, he'd probably had the roughest time emotionally up on that mountain, the one with the most to lose should he die. She couldn't help but tear up when he and Lily were reunited.

"Yeah," Nigel said as he brought up a new list of missing people and typed in the proper age range. "He said he's feeling a lot better. And he misses you. And me, of course." They both laughed, very ready for the mood to be lightened. "He'll be back soon. Oh!" The computer beeped at him, screaming that it had found a match. "Michael Burdette, aged fifty three. Reported missing less than two months ago. He's from New York."

"Wow." Jordan joined him before the computer, her interest peaked. "What's he doing here?"

"That's Woody's job. We've finished ours." He put an arm over her shoulders, squeezing them gently. "What do you say we call it an evening and grab a drink?"

Jordan smiled up at him, her features weary under the fluorescent lights. "Not tonight, Nige," she told him forlornly. "I'm gonna run that tox screen and sew Mister Burdette here back up, then I'd really just like to go home and crash."

"Of course, love." Nigel returned her smile. "Why don't you give me a blood sample and I'll run the tox for you? Cut the time in half."

Her face softened, struck once again at just how sweet he could be sometimes. "Thanks." She walked back to the corpse and pulled on another pair of gloves. The latex snapped against her skin as she surveyed the body before her. "Is hemlock poisoning a painful way to die?" she asked softly.

Nigel stopped what he was doing and looked at her, concerned. "Why do you want to know? Not getting suicidal on me, are you?" He laughed nervously, not quite sure what was going on.

Jordan shook her head, not able to meet his penetrating gaze. She _wasn't_ suicidal. Not really. "Just curious," she told him. _And a little hopeful_, she added to herself.

xxx

"So, got an ID on our guy yet?" Woody asked from the doorway of Jordan's office the next morning.

Jordan startled at his sudden voice, nearly dropping the file she had been studying. "Woody, hi. You scared me." She gave him a light smile before going right into business. "Michael Burdette, fifty three. Cause of death was hemlock poisoning. And," she added, "he's from Queens."

Woody just stared at her, surprised. "Queens? As in New York?"

Jordan nodded, raising one eyebrow. "Yes."

"What's he doing way down here?" He leaned against the doorframe, the gears in his brain already starting to process this new information.

"That's what I asked." She set down the file and slapped a pale pink post-it on the top paper, scribbling something across it before she closed the file altogether and put it away.

"And I may have your answer." Nigel had appeared behind the detective, a sheet of paper in his hand. "He works for Markel Construction. They just got hired to tear down a huge apartment complex and he was sent down from their headquarters to direct the building of a mall in its place."

Jordan held out her hand for the paper, curious. Nigel pushed by Woody and gave it to her, only to be met with an icy stare from the detective. "Shouldn't I see that first?"

Nigel was about to retort before Jordan interrupted. "Cool it, Woody. It's just a timesheet." She waved a dismissive hand in his direction and turned to Nigel. "Why do you have this?"

"Look at the last date," he said in way of an explanation, eyes shining with his discovery.

"Three months ago," she read. At Woody's questioning look, she said, "He was reported missing about _two_ months ago." Then, to Nigel, "Was the project completed?"

Nigel shook his head. "I did some digging and found out that they had to abandon the mall due to legal issues surrounding the apartments. Turns out they're used to house the needy and financially unstable. Michael should have returned home, but it seems he never did."

Woody finally went to stand behind Jordan's desk so he could look over her shoulder at the paper she was still holding. He gave Nigel another angry stare as he did so. "Why are you doing my job?" he asked before taking the timesheet right out of her hand.

"Don't answer that, Nige," Jordan warned, her joking voice belying the implication of her words. "Woody just has territorial issues. Issues he seems to have suddenly blown way out of proportion." She gave him a purposeful glare.

Nigel snorted. "You're telling me. Keep the print," he said less than enthusiastically. "If you suddenly decide you _do_ want my help, don't bother asking."

"You really are an ass sometimes, you know it?" Jordan pointed out rather harshly as her friend left and walked back down the hallway. "Nigel was just trying to help. He's good at that, remember?"

Woody's face fell. He folded the paper awkwardly and stuck it in his pocket. His body seemed to deflate as he sat on the edge of her desk. "I'm sorry," he mumbled dejectedly, not enjoying the anger she was showing him. "It's just been a difficult few days."

Jordan stood from her chair and put her hand on his cheek, all semblance of irritation gone. "I know," she said reassuringly, rubbing her thumb across his skin. "And it's okay. But I'm not the one you should be apologizing to."

He leaned into her palm in acknowledgement, closing his eyes. Comfortable silence fell, broken after a moment by his sigh. "How much vacation time do you have?"

She was taken off guard by the question. "A few weeks," was her vague answer as she pulled her hand away. "Why?"

Woody shrugged. "A friend of mine lent me the keys to his summer house near the coast. Says I need a break after the, and I quote, 'stressful event I have recently suffered through.' I was wondering if, um, you'd like to come with me?" He glanced at her warily, his eyes already expecting a negative reply.

Jordan was quiet, mulling over the invitation. "Where?"

"Warwick, Rhode Island. A few hours' drive, is all." He reached out and wrapped his arms around her waist, dragging her closer as he spoke. "Come on, Jordan. It'll be nice." His heart was pounding in his chest, terrified that she might say no. That she might pull away again, as she had done every other time they had started getting intimate. He pressed his lips to the side of her jaw in an attempt to calm himself, taking strength from the fact that she didn't shove him back.

Another long moment passed before she finally asked, "How long?"

"Just a few days," he answered quickly as he buried his face in her hair, breathing in her thick scent. "We don't have to be gone long. I just thought it'd be good to get away for a little while."

She didn't wait as long before she spoke again. "What about our case?" Of course, leave it to her to think of work over a vacation.

"I'll pass it to another detective," he offered without hesitation. "I rarely ask for any time off; it's a sure thing I can get at least a week. I'm pretty sure the same goes for you, right?"

Jordan nodded and moved her head so it was leaning against his. "Right."

"Hey, if you guys are going to be…like that, at least close the door." The two of them jumped away from each other and looked over to see Kate standing in the doorway. She averted her eyes, glancing down the hallway.

"I heard what you were saying about time off," she said almost nervously, "and since I'm the one in charge for the time being, I guess you can have a week." Jordan was about to interrupt but Kate held up a hand. "Nigel was telling me about your hemlock guy, and he seems rather interested in the case. I'm sure he won't mind taking over." She met the other woman's eyes and something passed quickly between them. "Besides, you could really use a break."

Woody studied Jordan's expression, shocked at what had just been exchanged. Maybe something had happened during that time on the mountain to change the way Kate saw the world, but whatever _had_ happened was just strange. Neither of them was used to this nicer, understanding side of her. They both watched as Kate pulled the door closed and walked off in search of Nigel.

"What was that?" Woody asked, confused.

Jordan turned to him, a smile spreading across her face. "That was me somehow getting a week off. Now, about this summer house…"


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's notes:** Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed the first chapter! It really means a lot to me. I hope you all enjoy _this_ chapter just as much. :)

**xXx**

**Wonderland**

**Chapter 2**

**xXx**

A cool breeze blew through the window as Jordan rolled it down. "Are we almost there?" she asked as she closed her eyes and turned her face to the fresh air.

Woody chuckled and reached over to turn off the air conditioning so it wouldn't escape out the window. "We only left half an hour ago. No, we're not almost there."

She gave him a glare, feigning annoyance. "Well," she muttered, "at least we're not flying." The bottle of water at her feet rolled across the floor of the car and under her seat as Woody switched lanes. "Any more news on the Burdette case?"

"No work, Jordan," he reminded her for the umpteenth time. "We're supposed to be taking a break." She had tried to bring a few files with her, but Woody caught her stuffing them in her bag before they left. After a not so angry reprimand, she'd agreed to leave them behind. It had taken some convincing, though.

She sighed and stared out the window at the trees zooming by near the side of the road. "It's a nice day," she said, not really sure what to talk about.

"You don't have to try to keep up a conversation, you know," he told her kindly, feeling her slight anxiety at being held in a moving car with no way of escape should she want one. "Just being here in your presence is all I need." A faint blush climbed up her cheeks.

A soft rumble of thunder rumbled in the distance. Woody and Jordan glanced at each other before bursting with laughter. "Guess the day really isn't all that nice after all," she admitted, smiling bashfully. Dark clouds could be seen off to the east, probably forming out over the ocean and moving slowly inland. "Are we gonna get caught in that?"

Woody looked quickly out the window before focusing back on the road. "I don't know," he said. "But it's just rain. What, you're not going to melt, are you?"

"Do I look green to you?" Jordan shot back, amused. An easy silence had begun to fall between them, but then she sat forward quickly, the seatbelt locking against her. "Oh, look!"

He did, but wasn't aware of anything out of the ordinary. "What?"

"That black garbage bag!" It was behind them by then and she turned her head to see it again. She grinned, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Don't you ever wonder if there're bodies in bags like that on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere?"

"Um, no." Biting back a sarcastic laugh, he looked in the rearview mirror and saw the bag in question. "Have you always thought like that?"

Jordan shook her head and didn't answer, choosing to reach for the half empty bottle of water and her purse instead. She rummaged around in the handbag and pulled out a small container of pills. They rattled against the side of the white bottle as she removed the lid to shake one onto her palm. Woody glanced over at the sound and saw her put the pill in her mouth and swallow it with the rest of the water.

"You okay?" he asked, concerned. He hadn't seen her take any medication before, and he suddenly realized that she had almost died not too long ago. The connection just hadn't been made between the tumor and current treatments. He felt like an idiot.

"Oh," she grinned again and dropped the bottle back into her purse. "Yeah. Just a headache." And that was that. He wasn't sure if he believed her, but was not about to call her on it.

"You'd…" he paused, weighing the consequences of what he wanted to say. "You'd tell me if something was wrong, right? With your…health?"

Her silence was just beginning to worry him when she said, "Of course I would."

"I'm serious, Jordan." He wished he could stare her down, but decided watching where he was driving was a bit more important.

"I'd tell you." She placed a comforting hand on his arm. "There's no reason I'd keep something like that from you. You'd find out eventually, anyway." She was quiet for a second, letting her words sink in with him before she cautiously went on. "There was actually something I wanted to talk to you about. Concerning…my _health_, as you so aptly put it."

"Is that so?" The clouds that had been materializing out over the ocean had moved closer over the few minutes they'd been chatting and Woody turned the headlights on.

"Yeah." The first few drops of water splattered against the windshield. "About what to do if I have another seizure." She sensed his nervousness at the subject and quickly continued before he was able to stop her. "Now, I know it's a slim possibility that I might have one this week – or next, or the one after that, or _ever_ for that matter – but I just want you to understand some precautionary stuff. If, by some crazy chance, anything happens, I want you to know what to do. Because I won't be able to tell you then." She attempted to give a light laugh.

"Jordan, it's - "

"Look, I don't want to frighten you or anything. But please. For future reference." She waited for any sign of resistance on his part, but none came. In fact, to her surprise he pulled right off the road and turned off the car. The rain picked up in intensity as they sat there for a moment in silence.

"Okay." Woody turned in his seat and met her timid gaze. "I guess if I'm going to be spending the rest of my life with you, I should know these things." She hesitated again at the implication in his words and he reached over and took both of her hands in his. "Tell me. I'm listening."

"Right." She smiled weakly and stared down at their hands before delving right in with a rush of words. "Well, if you see me start to fall, don't try to hold me up, okay? Lay me on the floor, on my side. Don't try to hold me still, either. It'll only turn out to be painful for both of us. Just try to keep my head from hitting anything. I know some people say to put something between the teeth, but don't do that; I might bite you, and believe me…it'll hurt."

"I think I might like having you bite me." Woody chuckled to let her know he was joking, loosing a hand and putting it against her cheek so she'd meet his eyes. "Anything else?"

His palm was warm, and she really wanted nothing more than to lean over and kiss him, just because she could. She didn't like thinking about what had happened to her, much less _talking_ about it with someone else. It was a difficult subject to touch on, but she nodded in response to his question anyway. "I, um, might be unconscious after it's over." She swallowed hard. "Don't move me, and don't leave me. If I get disoriented when I come to, you'll need to calm me down. And don't get me any food or water until I'm completely coherent." She was finally able to give him a playful smirk. "I'll tell you when I can talk again if you need to call a hospital. Okay?"

"Okay." Woody nodded. "Don't be afraid, Jo," he whispered, moving the hand from her cheek down her neck to draw her closer to him. The rain pattered harder against the car as he slowly pressed his lips to hers, shifting so he could wrap an arm around her waist. She kissed him back expectantly. For the first time since he had invited her, Jordan was truly excited about the trip. About being alone with him. A strange mixture of relief and giddiness flooded her veins, chased briefly by that familiar fear. Just as she was contemplating sliding herself over onto his lap, another car sped past them, honking teasingly as it went.

They reluctantly pulled apart. "I guess we should at least get there first, huh?" the detective muttered, his breath still tickling her skin.

"I guess so," she replied, tilting her head to kiss just below his ear. She grinned wickedly. "Are we almost there?"

xXx

The rain was just beginning to drizzle off as they stopped in front of a large, light blue townhome in a very nice neighborhood just outside the city. The home, situated between a white one on the left and a pale green one on the right, rose an impressive three stories. Landscaping covered the ground along the entire line, probably kept by a gardener or two. Even in the clouded evening light, the windows shone magnificently.

"Well," Woody said as he cut the engine, "should we go in?"

Jordan eagerly opened her door and climbed out, stretching her stiff limbs. It hadn't been an incredibly long drive, but she never had been one to stay still for extended periods of time. She breathed in the salty air, very glad to be away from Boston. The sprinkling rain stuck to her face and she quietly reveled in the sensation. Reveled in the fact that she was alive to feel it. Woody walked around to the back of the car and opened the trunk to unload their two bags.

He handed her the keys as she walked around to help. "I'll carry these if you open the door."

"My hero." She flashed him a toothy smile and took the keys. Her purse was swung over her arm as she made her way up the brick steps to stand under the stoop's large awning. The key slid easily into the lock and she pushed the door open, holding it for Woody as he came in behind her.

"Wow." Woody set their bags down and looked around the foyer. The floors were white marble, sparkling in the lights Jordan had just turned on. A sweeping staircase with wrought iron railings reached up to the second floor, then the third. The furniture they could see – a long table by the stairs and a bench across the entryway – was rich mahogany.

"I almost feel spoiled," Jordan said, coming to stand beside him. "Where did your friend get the funds for this?" They had both investigated crime scenes in houses like this – some even larger and more expensive – but they'd never been given the chance to actually _stay_ in one.

"Old money," he explained. "You should see his house in Boston."

"I don't think I want to." She peered into the rooms on either side. "Kitchen is over here, and is that a _parlor_?" Her shoes clicked against the marble as she walked in and turned on the lights. "Oh, Woody, come look at this!"

Large floor to ceiling windows covered the center third of the far wall, scarlet drapes falling down to frame them. A set of French doors was set in the center of the windowed wall, leading to a boardwalk that ended right on the rocky shore. It was a beautiful view. The furniture in this room was mahogany as well, including a lush sofa and a collection of cushioned chairs clustered around a large fireplace.

Woody walked over to where Jordan was standing before the windows and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. She leaned into him as he rested his chin on her shoulder and pressed his lips to her neck. "I could get used to this," he whispered into her ear, planting kisses along her neck and jaw. Suddenly, though, she tensed in his grasp. "What?" He loosened his hold on her, surprised. "What's wrong?"

She turned in his grasp, her lips turned up at the corners, her eyes unreadable. "I'm going to take our things upstairs. Why don't you see if there's anything to eat? Your friend was just here last week, right?" And then she was gone, making her way up the stairs with the suitcases.

Woody watched her, confused at what had just happened. Everything had been fine – perfect – and then she just bolted. _As she always does_, he thought grimly. _Maybe this is going to be a little harder than I had planned._ He stood there a moment longer, his gaze lingering on the stairs, before he willed himself to move.

The kitchen was just as impressive as he assumed it would be, but didn't really pay any attention as he began to open cupboards and drawers. Although they would definitely have to go to the grocery, he was able to find a box of spaghetti noodles and a jar of white sauce. Not too bad. It was as he was filling a pot with water that he realized Jordan hadn't returned yet. He set the pot on the counter by the stove and walked to the stairs, curious and a bit worried. Nothing could be heard from the rooms above.

The stairs creaked softly under his feet as he made his way up to the second story. He had passed a bathroom and small guest room before he noticed the quiet sobs. "Jordan?" The crying stopped almost instantly. The hallway ended with the master bedroom and bathroom. Their bags were left by the door, the lights off, but he could see her form silhouetted by large windows mirroring the ones in the parlor below. She was sitting on the bed, her back to the door and her head in her hands.

"I'll be down in a minute," she called, thinking he was still in the hall. Her voice barely hitched; she was too good at hiding her emotions.

Woody pushed the door fully open to let the light from outside spill in. "Hey," he said quietly, wincing inwardly when she visibly jumped and dropped her hands.

"What are you doing?" she asked. There was a hint of panic in her words, but whether she was afraid of him seeing her so weak or of _him_, he had no idea. And that frightened him.

"Looking for you," Woody replied gently, sitting on the bed and sliding over to sit behind her. His hand found her back, rubbing in calming circles. Silence was thick around them, broken only by the steady patter of rain against the large windows and Jordan's catching breaths. Her body shook under his hand as she slowly started to quiet.

She was in a strange spot, stuck between knowing exactly what she wanted and actually keeping it. Making it work. She meant every word she said on the mountain after the crash, but she had no idea where to go after that; she'd never gotten beyond that point with anyone. This sense of intense confusion left her feeling lost and rather alone. She wanted Woody to hold her and comfort her and whisper sweet nothings into her ear, but was at a loss for how to make it happen. How to make him understand how badly she needed him.

"I'm so sorry, Woody," Jordan suddenly stammered, the tears surfacing again to spill down her cheeks. He stared at her, not quite understanding what was going on. "I'm trying s-so hard to ch-change." She squeezed her eyes closed, refusing to look at him even as he put an arm over her shoulders. "But I don't know if I c-can."

She felt all of the hope she'd had before slip away. Every single person she had ever felt connected to had left her in some shape or form, and she didn't know how to make any relationship really last. What she had with Woody…it was so much different than anything else she had ever had _with_ anyone else, and it scared the hell out of her.

Woody watched her, could feel her trembling increase with each passing second. "Let me help you," he pleaded, not willing to let her retreat again. "You are _not_ going to run away from me. Not this time." Flashes of her seizure in the morgue and other scattered memories of all the times she had almost lost her life burst into his mind. Before he could stop himself – before he realized that he might scare her away – he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her back into his chest. His heart nearly stopped when Jordan struggled against him for a brief moment.

"Please…" He put a hand on her forehead, gently holding her still as he offered her what comfort he could. "Tell me what to do to help you."

All the fight left her body at his words and Jordan let herself fall limply against him. She was burning on the inside, conflicted and terrified. Years of hardwired responses tried to kick into action: _run, leave, go home, shut off_. And suddenly she felt the weight of the last few weeks heavy on her shoulders. She was breaking and didn't know how to hold herself together anymore.

"Everything is different now," she gasped through hitching breaths.

"What do you mean?" Woody knew she was withdrawing and he was grasping at straws to get her to open up again. He was just as terrified as she was and wanted her to understand that. "Talk to me. Please, Jordan. Please, please _talk to me_."

She shuddered against him and sank deeper into his embrace, finally giving in. The warmth of his body was so inviting, so reassuring…but the words he wanted to hear were still lost between her brain and her tongue. "I'm scared…" was all she was able to get out.

There were so many questions Woody wanted answered, but she had stopped struggling. And he would take that. It was a start, one he wasn't going to take for granted. Those two words – _I'm scared_ – spoke of such depth. He recognized that she had been thrown violently out of the world she had come to know; her illness had changed everything, and then things had just snowballed far beyond her control. It might take a while for her to figure out how to express that to him, or to anyone...including herself.

"It's okay, Jo," he whispered into her hair, slowly moving sideways with her so he could lean against the headboard. Maybe taking her away from work and distractions wasn't the best idea after all…

"Don't leave me, Woody."

The breathless plea was almost humorous, considering he was afraid that _she_ would leave _him_, but he nodded anyway. "I'm not going anywhere." He settled his grip around her and relaxed, trying to get comfortable. It was going to be a long night.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes: **As always, thank you all for the wonderful reviews. It's your feedback that keeps me writing. :) And now, on with the next chapter (where the _real_ plot finally comes out to play)…

**xXx**

**Wonderland**

**Chapter 3**

**xXx**

"Can't you tell me _anything_?"

"I'm sorry, detective," Doctor Skinner said, annoyed, "but unless you are her husband or have a court order, my lips are sealed."

"But you have to understand," Woody tried once again. "Something is going on with her. I just want to make sure she's okay."

The doctor sighed at the other end of the line. "Is she fatigued?"

"What?" He was taken off guard at the random question and it took a moment to register. "No, she's not. Well, no more than usual."

"Has she been seizing?"

"No, but -"

"Violent mood swings or strange changes in behavior?"

"Yes!" Woody jumped on the last one. "Well, not violent mood swings or anything, but she's been more emotional than what's normal for her. Does that make sense?"

Skinner was quiet for a second before he asked, "Is it her time of the month?"

The detective fumed at the arrogance in the man's voice. "I don't know," he said through clenched teeth. "But I do know that _something is wrong_ and you won't help me!"

"I am sorry, Mister Hoyt, but there is nothing I can do."

Woody slammed the phone back in its cradle and leaned into the cushions angrily. _Bastard_, he thought. Early morning sunlight streamed through the large windows in the downstairs living room, seeming to ignite the burgundy carpet under his feet. The contents of Jordan's purse were spilled across the coffee table before him. He'd woken to find her still passed out in his arms and took the opportunity to do some digging. She would kill him if she knew, but Woody was concerned.

Marshall Skinner's number had been scrawled across a piece of paper at the bottom of the bag. Apparently, the doctor she had been seeing before – the one who had performed her surgery – was offered a job in New Jersey, so Jordan was referred to this new man back in Boston. A poor choice, in Woody's opinion, but who was he to tell her what doctors to see?

Deciding it would be very bad if Jordan came downstairs and saw her belongings scattered everywhere, Woody leaned forward again and returned each object to the small purse. A tube of lipstick, her wallet, a little package of tissues, various papers and pens. The bottle of pills. He had stared at the label before he had placed the call to Skinner, but the product name stirred nothing in his memory; he had no idea what it was for.

Her sudden break last night had scared him senseless. It was the last thing he had expected, but seeing her sitting there in the dark broke his heart. He had never been good around crying women, and Jordan only made him all the more nervous. She was _Jordan_, after all. The woman who had an answer for everything. The master of hiding emotions and running when it got too hard. He felt that if he did one thing wrong now, she would be gone forever.

The floorboards creaked above his head, bringing him quickly back to reality. He hastily dropped her purse on the coffee table, trying to make it seem like she had left it there herself.

"Woody?" Jordan's soft voice echoed through the vast foyer as she descended the stairs. "Where are you?"

Woody got to his feet and walked to the doorway. "I'm over here." He smiled up at her, taking in the image of her rumpled clothes from the day before and her messy bed hair. No matter what she wore, what she looked like, she was always gorgeous. "Good morning."

She returned his smile, her cheeks turning a light shade of red. "So," she said brightly, "what's for breakfast?"

"Um…" He'd already searched through the kitchen again, finding no more than he had last night. "Well, I was going to take you out for breakfast. And since there is absolutely no food in the house, maybe we could go to the grocery after we eat?"

"Sounds like a plan." She stopped on the stairs and made to turn around. "I'll go put on some…clean clothes. Is there a place that makes French toast around here?"

xXx

They found a restaurant close by that not only served French toast, but pretty much every other breakfast food known to man as well. The meal had passed with easy banter and chatter. Woody was afraid to bring up anything from the night before, and Jordan seemed quite content to keep quiet about it. _A thing of the past_, he mused as the check was paid and they got up to leave.

"What were you doing up so early?" Jordan asked randomly once they were in the car. "I thought I heard you on the phone. Who were you talking to?"

Woody threw a quick glance at her, alarmed, but was able to assure himself that from the look on her face, she was genuinely curious and not suspicious. "A detective back in Boston. Asked me for an opinion." Not exactly a lie; he _had_ called his friend to thank him again for the keys, and his friend _was_ a detective…

"Ah." She nodded, staring out the window. "What was the case?"

"I don't know," he supplied quickly. "I told him I was on vacation and didn't want to think about a homicide. Do you see a grocery anywhere?" They had come up to a strip mall with a variety of stores, but a grocers' was conspicuously absent. From their position on the road, anyway.

Jordan leaned forward and peered at the large sign with store logos. "There should be one in there, but I don't see it." She continued her search as Woody slowed to turn into the parking lot. "Oh, there it is! Off to the left, on the corner."

Woody pulled into a spot and cut the engine. "Do we have a list or anything?"

"No." Jordan laughed. "We're only going to be here for a few days. We don't need a list." A thought occurred to her as she was opening her door. "Do you know how to cook?"

He shrugged and locked the car. "Out on my own by sixteen, remember? Yes, I know how to cook."

Jordan studied him for a moment, not so much surprised as impressed. "Can't wait to find out just how well…" Her eyes sparkled with amusement.

"Excuse me!" A high pitched voice broke through their conversation. "Excuse me!" The owner of the voice, a tall blonde woman, probably around her mid-forties, rounded on them with a huge smile plastered across her face. "I saw you moving into Will Huntington's place yesterday evening. I live next door – the green one. Holly Whitaker." She held out her hand.

"Jordan Cavanaugh." Jordan shook the woman's hand obligingly. "And this is Woody Hoyt."

Holly stood back and continued smiling. "Are you friends of Will's?"

"I am, yeah." Woody shook her hand as well but didn't have the heart to grin back. "We're on the Force together."

"Oh, another detective! How lovely!" Her blue eyes bore into his, seeming to read him like a book. "How long are you here for?"

"Only a few days," Jordan cut in, placing her hand on Woody's arm. "Needed a little break. I'm sure you know how it is, work getting to be too much to handle."

"Oh, no, dear." That smile only widened. "I don't work. Don't need to."

Jordan was at a loss. She glanced up at Woody, but he was just as quiet. "Oh, well -"

"We were just going to get some food and head back to the house," Woody interjected before his companion could say something rude. "It was very nice to meet you." He put an arm across Jordan's shoulders and they began to turn away.

"Jordan, dear?" Holly reached out and touched her shoulder. "It _is_ Jordan, isn't it? Are you a detective as well?"

The M.E. just stared for a moment, trying to decide what was best to divulge. "I…you could say that."

"Well, that's just dandy!" Her eyes widened as an idea came to her. "You know, it would be wonderful if the two of you could join my husband and me for dinner. Is tomorrow night okay?"

Woody hesitated, his body tensing at the awkward situation they had found themselves in. "Um, sure."

Jordan switched her stare to him as Holly said, "Seven o'clock fine with you?"

"Perfect."

The woman clapped her hands excitedly. "Great. I'll see you folks then. I know Paul will just love to meet you both." She waved goodbye and sauntered off to find her car.

"What the hell did you do that for?" Jordan rounded on him as soon as Holly had left hearing range.

"What are you talking about?" Woody's eyes were wide, startled at her sudden outburst.

"Getting us invited to dinner, that's what!" She hit his arm.

"Ouch!" He pulled away from her, even more surprised. "I was just being polite. You know, that thing where you're actually _nice_ to people? You'd be amazed at how well it works sometimes." He rubbed his arm, watching her warily. Those violent outbreaks were not fun. At all. Doctor Skinner's questions ran through his head, but he quickly pushed them away as he readied himself for her retaliation.

None came. Instead she walked away and toward the glass doors of the grocery, ignoring him completely. Woody hurried after her and grabbed her shoulder, whipping her around to face him. "What is going on with you?"

Jordan's expression was one of resentment, but not resentment for him. More like resentment for the whole world. "I don't want to have dinner with that woman and her husband."

"Why not?" He released her shoulder in the hope that she wouldn't hit him again.

She huffed and pursed her lips. "I didn't like her." His laugh startled her. "What?"

Woody shook his head, gazing off over the building. "You don't really like anyone you don't know, do you?"

That stopped her. She bit her lower lip, seriously considering his question, rhetorical though it may have been. "I don't want to talk about it," she finally mumbled. "I'll go. Okay?"

"I'll stop by their house when we get back and cancel."

"You're sweet." She paused again, shifting her weight from foot to foot. "But you really shouldn't give in to me like that. At least, not all the time." Her wavering gaze leveled with his. "Although it _is_ rather endearing."

"Endearing, huh?" He could almost feel the barricade around her falling and took a slow step forward before she could spring it back up. The skin of her cheek was soft under his palm as he reached out to her. "You have no idea just how convincing you can be; makes it kinda hard _not_ to give in." He leaned down so his lips just brushed her ear. "Don't we have some shopping to do?"

Jordan's gasp sent a sharp pang of longing through his body. She was all he wanted, all he could remember wanting for years. Even though, he was also terrified of losing her. One wrong move and she'd be gone. A promise of things to come – and a reminder of what she had with him – was all that she needed to keep her there. But how long would that last? Commitment was the one thing he wasn't sure if she was able to give, and was the one thing he needed more than anything. Woody pushed the concerns as far from his mind as he could and pressed a kiss to her neck, another to her lips for all too brief a moment.

She pulled away to look at him as though sensing his unease. "Are you okay?"

"Perfect." A car starting in the parking lot brought them back. Public places and displays of affection didn't always go well together. "So, shall we shop?"

Jordan gave him a broad smile and took his hand tightly in her own. "We shall."

xXx

_They're coming. I know they're coming. Coming for me. My money. Money. They want my money. They want to kill me. Conspiracy. It's a conspiracy. Everything is a conspiracy. Always._

_Bright stars. The moon was shining sulkily… Walrus. Because she thought the sun had got no business to be there. Stars. Sea. The sea in the moonlight. The sun was shining on the sea, shining with all his might… _

_Must stop them. Put out the sun. Let the moon shine. The moon was shining sulkily… It is nighttime. No sun. Conspiracy. They took the sun. Kill. I must stop them. I must kill them. It's very rude of him, she said, to come and spoil the fun. Carpenter. The Walrus and the Carpenter. The sea. The conspiracy. My money. Must kill them._

_Must kill them all and take back the sun._

xXx

It was late afternoon by the time Jordan and Woody returned to the town home. They had decided to walk around the strip mall for a while, enjoying the time out together, before heading back to get the food. The food they were now hauling inside. There wasn't much, but there was enough to be a hassle.

Jordan set the last bag on the counter and peered inside it. "You still haven't told me what you're going to make for dinner." She pulled a loaf of bread and a box of crackers out of the bag and set about putting them in the cupboard. "You're not gonna try and surprise me, are you? 'Cause I'd hate for you to go to the trouble of cooking something I don't like."

Woody smirked at her as she slid past him to put the orange juice in the refrigerator. "Well, you like pasta, don't you?"

"Okay, fine." The plastic bags crinkled loudly as she crushed them together and shoved them in the recycle bin. "I guess you know me well enough to know what I do and don't like to eat. Sorry." She stepped over to where he was leaning against the island counter and put her hands on the countertop on either side of him. Her body was warm against his as she relaxed into his chest, moving her hands to clasp behind his neck. "You know, we have a while before dinnertime…"

"What exactly are you suggesting?" He wrapped his arms securely around her waist and pressed his face into her dark hair, planting small kisses along the line of her neck. The scent of her was thick around him, making his mind reel. It was still hard for him to really believe that he was finally able to take Jordan into his arms and have her respond to his touch. In a good way, though. None of that spooking and running off.

"Well, let's see…" Her hand slipped into his hair and she gently stopped his exploration of her jaw. Before he could protest, she grazed her lips over his, smiling as she did so. "You." She kissed him again. "And me." Another kiss to the bridge of his nose. "Alone."

Just about put up with her teasing, Woody took her face in his hands and kissed her forcefully on the lips. She gasped against him, sending pangs of need down his spine. All worries – worries for her, for her health, for her behavior – disappeared as she met him stroke for stroke.

Until, as fate would have it, someone started pounding on the front door. A faint yelling could be heard outside. Jordan pulled away, frowning into the foyer. "What the hell?"

Woody followed her as she rushed over to open the door. It was Holly Whitaker, doubled over on the stoop, her eyes wide and terrified.

"He's dead!" she screamed, losing her footing and lashing out to grab the railing by the stairs. "You have to help me! Please!" Tears streamed down her face, her expression one of pure horror. "Someone murdered him!"

"What?" Jordan stepped outside to help steady her. "Who's dead?"

"My husband!" Holly's fingers dug into Jordan's arm. "Someone murdered Paul!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Notes: **Look at what I found on my old computer while cleaning out some files! Turns out I'd already written the next three chapters before leaving last time. And, though I have moved a handful of times in the last few years - thus losing all of my handwritten notes - there's still enough here for me to use to actually finish this thing. Eventually.

If any of my old readers are still around, I sincerely apologize for the abrupt hiatus! I'd love to know if you're still here. You were all so awesome.

* * *

**Wonderland**

**Chapter 4**

Paul Whitaker was lying face down on the couch in the living room, several stab wounds visible on his back. Blood stained the white upholstery, dripping sluggishly to pool on the carpeted floor. Holly Whitaker clung to Jordan's arm, hyperventilating, as the three of them entered the once pristine town home.

"We need to call the police, Holly," Woody told her, his eyes already roaming around the room.

"You _are _the police!" Holly wheezed, her fingers digging painfully into Jordan's skin.

"I'm the police in Boston, not here," he explained gently. "I don't really have jurisdiction in Rhode Island." He glanced meaningfully at Jordan, who nodded and pried the hysterical woman off of her so she could find a phone.

"But you'll help, right?" Holly stared at him, her eyes huge. "I-I trust you. Please." Her voice shook with emotion.

"C'mon, Mrs. Whitaker. Let's go sit in the kitchen." He put his hand on her back and helped her shuffle from the living room. Jordan was already standing beside the sink, a phone held to her ear, as he ushered the distraught woman to a chair.

"Police are on the way," Jordan said quietly as they entered, covering the receiver with her hand. "They want us to stay here and wait. Obviously."

"Can you tell us what happened, Holly?" Woody asked, kneeling before her and grasping her trembling hands.

"I-I just…just walked in. And there he was!" She leaned heavily against the back of the chair. Tears streamed down her cheeks, glinting in the harsh overhead light. "Oh, God! Why would anyone kill him?"

A pregnant silence fell, Holly's hitching breaths echoing around the large kitchen. Woody and Jordan just looked at each other, not quite sure what to do. They were out of their element here. It was a murder like the ones they worked with every day, but this place wasn't home - wasn't familiar territory. They could be getting themselves into something way over their heads, and that wouldn't be good for either of them. After a very long few minutes, cars could be heard pulling up at the curb.

"I'll go let them in," Jordan offered when an officer knocked at the front door. Shuffling and soft talking preceded the appearance of two uniformed police, Jordan trailing a few steps behind them. She stood beside Woody as the officers began to take over.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Whitaker," one of the men said, nodding politely.

"Evan Stone," she returned coldly, staring at her feet. "I should have known they'd send _you_."

The man – Stone – pursed his lips. "There was a murder. Who else did you think would come?"

"Someone who wouldn't have a biased opinion from the beginning!" Holly stood violently from her chair, startling everyone. "My husband needs justice, and you're going to ruin everything! Get out of my house! Go back to your _station _and have them send someone else!" She glared furiously at him, standing her ground. "Better yet, tell your captain I already have a detective here to investigate."

Stone stared at her, flabbergasted. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Woody held up his hands to protest, but Holly was already pointing at him. "Detective Hoyt will be taking over the investigation." Her statement left no room for argument from any party. "You're working for _him_ now."

xXx

"I gotta hand it to her," Jordan muttered as she and Woody began to examine the crime scene a few minutes later. "She has more clout in the community than I gave her credit for."

"Yeah, well -" Woody stopped himself from saying something he might regret. There were too many people that might overhear, and that would just be bad. He sighed in frustration. "I didn't want to take a vacation just to get a new case. Seems stuff like this follows us, huh?"

"Eh, I don't really believe in vacations. Work is work, no matter where you are." She smiled up at Officer Stone's partner, Danny Jones, as he ambled into the room with a forensics kit. "I just wish you could have kept quiet about the whole 'Jordan's a medical examiner!' thing."

Woody tried to hide the blush that crept up his neck. "Hey, there was no way I was gonna be dragged down alone! Besides," he said, trying to redeem himself, "you're the only M.E. I work well with."

"You mean the only one you have a crush on and want to keep around at all times. In case, you know, we come across some place where we can -"

He nearly choked on his tongue as he cut her off. "Would you shut up?"

"Just sayin'…" Her eyes were alight with silent laughter.

"I, um, don't mean to interrupt," Jones stuttered, taken aback at their flirting, "but I have that kit for you, Doctor Cavanaugh. And a pair of gloves for you, Detective Hoyt." He handed them the respective items and stood back, obviously nervous. "Captain says you can have the case, since that's what Holly wants. You also have access to all of our equipment and offices and stuff. But, um -" he shifted the weight to his other foot "- Officer Stone and I have to, erm, keep an eye on things. Make sure everything is done right."

"Of course," Woody said easily, grinning. "I know how territorial some precincts can be."

"Just the precincts?" Jordan butted in as she sorted through the contents of the bag. "I know a certain detective who seems pretty territorial to me."

"Shut it, Cavanaugh."

She just looked up at him innocently. "I never said it was _you_."

Woody decided not to say anything to that, instead setting about getting the scene in order. The stench of congealing blood was thick in the air, making his stomach knot. He'd handled far worse, but that smell had a way of sticking to him. "Doesn't look like there was a struggle," he noted, moving around to the body. "Not much blood spatter. Nothing turned or broken. He probably knew his attacker."

Jordan came to his side, crouching to get a look at the man's face. "Coloring suggests he's been dead for a few hours now. I'll get a temperature to be sure, but I'd say time of death to be around noon or so." Her eyes roamed over his back in a cursory examination. "Cause of death…most likely the fifteen visible stab wounds. Judging from the amount of blood, there are probably more on his front. And look at this," she said softly, holding up his left hand and pointing to a thick band of discoloration around one finger. "Wedding ring is missing."

"Great." Woody clapped his hands, ready to get things moving. "Officer Jones, why don't you take some pictures? And where's that ambulance? We need to get the body outta here."

xXx

"Cause of death is definitely blood loss from the twenty seven stab wounds to Whitaker's chest and upper back," Jordan explained into a little tape recorder in her hand. "There are no defensive wounds, but there looks to be a needle mark on his left forearm. Killer probably injected him with something incapacitating before actually applying the knife." She set down the recorder and peered into the open body.

A muffled cough from behind caught her attention. "Need something, Officer Jones?" she asked without turning around.

"Um, no ma'am." Jones stood where he was, his eyes avoiding both Jordan and the corpse. "I was just wondering if everything was going all right for you."

"Just dandy." She pulled the liver up out of the body and turned it over, studying the coloring and texture. It was mean, she knew, but she took brief satisfaction at Jones's noise of disgust. The liver plopped as she dropped it on the metal tray to her right to be weighed. "So, who do I give this to?"

"Ma'am?" The officer froze, his hands clenched behind his back as he nervously eyed the organ.

"This." She held up a vial of blood and waved it in front of his face. "For a tox screen. I _can _get one of those done, can't I?"

"Oh, yeah. Of course." He smiled woozily, not making any moves to take a step forward. "I'll…I'll take it. But, if you don't mind me asking, why do you need one of those worked up? I mean, it's pretty obvious what he actually died from. Isn't it?"

Jordan barely spared him a glance as she turned her attention to the lungs. "Small puncture wound on his arm, probably from a needle. The stabbing was the ultimate cause of death, but I'd bet there are some other factors here." When he still made no attempt to get the vial from her hand, she set it down forcefully on the metal stand that held all of her tools. "Listen," she said through her teeth. "I'm not here to infringe on your territory or anything. I came down here for a _break _from work, so I'm not too happy about this either. But a little help would be nice. I'd really like to get back to my vacation."

Jones looked away, flustered. "I'm just doing my job," he muttered.

"So am I." Her glare was angry, daring him to defy her. He didn't say another word, instead finally stepping forward and grabbing the vile before fleeing the autopsy bay.

xXx

Woody was sitting at the large kitchen table when Jordan returned that night. Various papers were spread before him as he tried to piece everything from their new case together. So far, nothing was forthcoming. The extensive interviews with Holly revealed very little, aside from the fact that her husband had virtually no enemies. Holly was now staying with a friend a few streets over. For a while after he had left her, she'd called him at least once every hour, asking for an update. It had gotten so bad he actually had to unplug the phones in the town home.

"I thought you'd never get back," he said, a genuine smile pulling his lips back when he finally saw Jordan leaning against the doorway.

She sighed and dropped into a chair beside him, adding her own papers to the mess his made. "It's almost impossible to get anything done in that morgue. Seriously, I thought I was going to have to murder someone to get the tox screen finished. No pun intended, of course."

Woody just smiled again, this one a bit more pained than the last at the mention of her little shadow. "Officer Stone wasn't all that eager to offer me any help, so I know what you mean."

"They don't want us here," she stated, pointing out the obvious. "But at least Jones is a pushover. It was pretty easy to bend him to my will once he saw I wasn't kidding around." Her eyes fell on the report she had been talking about before and she reached over to pick it back up.

"What's that?" Woody asked, inclining his head toward the paper.

"That tox screen." She handed it to him and waited for his glance before she continued. "Xylazine. It's -"

"A sedative for horses and large animals." His eyes roamed over the report. "And lots of it, too, huh?"

"How did you know that?" Jordan stared at him, surprised at his apparent knowledge on the drug as he handed the screen report back to her.

Woody just laughed. "Farm Boy, remember? Grow up around horses and one tends to learn a thing or two."

"Ah." She nodded, her eyes sparkling at his good mood.

"So, case." He pointed at the paper still in his hand. "What do you think? Perp slipped him the xylazine and stabbed him once he started to get woozy?"

"That would explain the lack of defensive wounds," she added, remembering the absence of any such marks on his body. A smirk played across her face as he contemplated the information he was just given. "You've got your first lead, detective."

"Yes I do, and all thanks to you." Woody beamed at her, resisting the urge to reach out and pull her into his arms.

Jordan watched him for a second before gathering her papers together and standing from the table. "I desperately need a shower," she muttered, "and a good night's sleep. I think I'm going to head on upstairs."

She paused for a moment, a flicker of concern flashing over her face when she felt anxiety start pouring off of him at her dismissive words. They hadn't actually slept together yet - not since that poorly-timed night in the murder-mystery hotel. And while they had come close since they'd arrived here, it hadn't happened. Feeling awkward all of a sudden, she tried to smile at him. "I'm just tired. Really."

The detective nodded in understanding and stood as well, holding out his hand. Not hesitating this time, she stepped forward to let him grasp her fingers. "Do you want some dinner first?" he asked quietly.

She shook her head. "Not hungry. Unlike most people, working so quickly in so short a time span does _not _increase my appetite."

He looked at her, worry about her lack of appetite beginning to gnaw at his stomach. "How 'bout I bring something up for you? Soup, maybe. Easy on the stomach. You can eat it before you go to sleep."

"How 'bout -" she backed away slowly, a smile tugging at her lips, "I shower and come back down here for the soup. We can eat together, and it will save me from you _pestering _me all night." She leaned forward again and gave him a quick kiss on the lips in an attempt to soothe his worries. "I'll be right back. Promise."

xXx

True to her word, Jordan had crawled into bed as soon as she had finished eating. Woody had wished her sweet dreams and stayed downstairs to do the dishes - or rather, to give her some space. They had spoken only a few words over dinner; she really had been exhausted. He was just glad she had actually eaten. _Maybe she really has had a loss in appetite, _he thought restlessly, Skinner's questions once again surfacing in his mind. _Am I just so oblivious that I didn't notice it until now?_

Putting the last dish in the drainer, Woody quietly made his way upstairs and stopped in the doorway of the large bedroom, gazing at her through the dim light left on in the connected bathroom. He'd been nervous about coming upstairs, about coming in _here_. What if she hadn't wanted him in there with her? Maybe he was pushing her too hard, maybe - But the sight that met him made those worries fall to the back of his mind.

She'd left space for him, having curled up on the right side of the bed - leaving the left completely open. _His _side.

The relief he felt, seeing that she had been expecting him to join her eventually, was incredible. He slipped out of his clothes and found his pajamas, then flipped off the bathroom light and climbed into bed beside her. She didn't rouse. Emboldened, he scooted closer to spoon behind her, hiding his face in her damp hair. The scent of her shampoo was strangely comforting.

But, hard as he tried, he wasn't able to push his anxieties about her health away as they began to resurface in his mind. She had promised to tell him if something was wrong, but would she really do it? For as long as he'd known her, Jordan had proven over and over again that she was ridiculously independent.

The moonlight filtered in through the large windows, bathing them both in dark silver. All the rain that had been overhead upon their arrival the day before had already blown out, leaving gorgeous weather in its wake. What a shame they had to spend it all inside. Investigating. That was _not _what Woody had had in mind when he'd suggested they get away.

He sighed, frustrated, and shifted his grip on her to stave off the tingling in his right arm. But she moved then, an odd tension making the muscles in her shoulders stiffen.

"Jordan?" Woody whispered, propping himself up on an elbow to see her face. She didn't respond, still lost in slumber, but her lips were turned down, eyebrows furrowed. Like she was in pain. Utterly confused, he moved his hand to her upper arm, gently shaking her. "Hey, Jo."

She turned away from him, pressing her face into the pillow with a soft whimper. Worry turning to fear, he touched his fingers to her forehead and was shocked when he could feel a pulsing near her hairline. "Jordan, come on. Wake up."

Finally, after an excruciating few seconds, her eyes fluttered open and she tried to look at him. "Pills," she rasped. "In my -" She grimaced, an arm wrapping subconsciously around her abdomen as she pulled her knees up to her chest. "In my purse. Green bottle."

He jumped out of the bed, careful not to jostle her, and ran in search of her purse. Last he had seen it, it was down on the kitchen table amidst the mess of papers. He nearly tripped down the stairs, intense relief pooling in his stomach when he saw it still sitting there. Not caring what kind of fit she had in the morning, he took the bag and upended it on the table. Two bottles of medication clattered out with the contents and he threw the purse down, grabbing up the nondescript green tube and a small glass of water.

Jordan was nearly hyperventilating when he returned, obviously trying her hardest to keep control over her body. It was working – probably because she knew what she was doing – but Woody was still scared out of his mind. She heard him coming and immediately held out a hand for the bottle. He gave it to her, holding onto the glass. She dumped one of the pills into her palm and threw it into her mouth, ignoring the water even when he went to give it to her as well.

He sat on the bed beside her then, taking her head into his lap and running a hand over her hair. His mind was still reeling, not quite grasping what had happened just yet. Jordan closed her eyes and took more deep breaths, reaching blindly across the mattress in search of his other hand. "You okay?" he asked, feeling like an idiot.

She nodded nearly imperceptibly against him, not opening her eyes. "Thank you," she whispered.

He slowly lied back down beside her, letting her rest most of her weight against him as she got comfortable. His hand never stopped its motion over her hair, and after a very long half hour, she began to relax against him. He could almost feel the pressure leaving her body, letting her go blissfully limp. "You still with me?"

"Mhmm," was all the answer he got.

"What…" Woody was at a loss, still so confused and frightened. "What was that?"

"Migraine," Jordan explained, almost too softly for him to hear. "I've been getting them for a few months now. Some are more…intense than others." She fell silent, leading him to believe that she had fallen asleep again, before she continued. "Really nothing to worry about, but they hurt like hell."

He gave a weak laugh. "So long as you're not dying or anything."

"Nope," she mumbled accordingly. "Not yet, anyway."

"Don't talk like that," he was quick to admonish, refusing to let himself be worried at what was obviously her trying to joke. But deep down, he wasn't able to shake the feeling that there was still something she wasn't telling him.


	5. Chapter 5

**As promised, here is the next chapter.**

**Thank you to everyone who has been reading, and a special thanks to Mexwojo, Bekahkw, 9name, and Hazmatt for your wonderful reviews on everything I've posted the last few weeks.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Wonderland  
**

**Chapter 5**

_Blood. So much blood. Everywhere. Thunder overhead. The sun is bright. The moon is hiding, the sun shining on the sea. Blue. White. Green. Green greed. Red. Blood. Blood red. _

_Dry sands. Wet sea. Wet as wet could be. Sand. Sand in my clothes. Clothes in the sea. No birds were flying overhead – there were no birds to fly. No birds. One down. Only one. There are more. Many more._

_They are coming for me. They are going to take me. Lock me away. Take my money. Can't let them. Nope. Can't let them. More to kill. Such quantities of sand. Must fix this. If this were only cleared away, it would be grand! Grand!_

xXx

Jordan roused early the next morning, still very groggy. A faint throb echoed through her head as she ran a hand through her messy hair. She sighed and sat up in the bed, gently pushing Woody's arms away from her body. He grumbled in protest but simply rolled over as she stood up and made her way to the bathroom.

The reflection that stared back at her from the mirror was a sad one. Dark circles under the eyes, lips pale, pores huge, eyebrows pinched. Jordan turned on the water and splashed some over her face in an attempt to wake up a little more. She didn't want to look at that reflection again. It just seemed to mock her, seemed to take her life and make it worthless. Her hands were chilly as she rubbed them over her eyes and down her cheeks.

She had been getting those migraines since a few weeks before the surgery. Her doctor said they may never go away, and it seemed he was right. That was when he'd prescribed the medication. It was one of the few she could take when she felt a migraine coming on and usually stop the pain in its tracks. _Usually_. There were other times she spent hours at the toilet, vomiting because she couldn't get the meds into her system fast enough. Last night would have been one of those times if Woody hadn't been there to get them for her. Migraines hurt. A lot.

Woody. He was still sound asleep, a pillow having taken her place in his arms. Jordan leaned against the doorway, content just watching him for a minute. She rarely got to see him so at ease. He looked like the image of Wisconsin innocence; no one would have been able to guess, seeing him like that, how difficult and frustrating his life could be. Suddenly wanting to be close to him again, she padded across the room and slid back into the bed.

"Woody," she whispered, nudging the pillow out of his grasp and stretching out beside him. He muttered something unintelligible and turned his head away from her. She stared at him, torn between letting him sleep and waking him up. After a moment, she chose the former and pulled herself out of the bed again, grabbing a robe from a nearby chair. They would have plenty of time together later.

Soft light filtered in through the large windows, and she could just see the rocky shore of the inlet at the end of the private boardwalk. The sea looked to be peaceful, but she could imagine it slapping the rocks violently as the waves came in. For a fleeting moment, she considered running down into the surf with the wish that it would carry her away. Figuratively and literally. But the thought was gone almost as soon as it came, leaving her quite baffled. She wasn't suicidal. She just _wasn't_.

Before her emotions could get the best of her, Jordan left the room and went downstairs to the kitchen. She chuckled to herself when she saw the contents of her purse scattered over the large table, adding to the disarray of papers still taking residence on the wooden surface. Woody had done her good last night, but he sure made a mess of it. She tugged her robe tightly around herself as she pulled out the coffee they had bought the day before and set about putting it in the coffee maker.

As she waited for the drink to brew, she sat down heavily at the table. Without really thinking about it, she gathered up the items from her purse and put them back in the bag, which had fallen to the floor at some point. The faint throbbing in her head slowly began to increase as she did so. _Hangover. From a migraine_, she thought bitterly, almost giving up on putting things away and then stubbornly refusing to do so. _Just lovely._

The coffee maker started to beep at her impatiently, pulling her out of her thoughts. She tossed her purse, now refilled with its previous contents, back to the floor and shuffled over to the counter to pour herself a cup. As she reclaimed her chair at the kitchen table, one of the papers caught her attention. It was a transcript of the interview Woody'd had with Holly Whitaker the day before. Interested, she picked it up and skimmed it over.

"I don't know anyone who would want to hurt him!" she had said. "He was such a wonderful man. Had the soul of an angel. What am I going to do without him?"

Jordan remembered Holly's tortured screams when they had first found her on the front stoop of their borrowed townhome. Those sounds had sent chills through her body, and she couldn't help but feel for the poor woman. Finding the person you loved more than anything in the world, dead in your own home…it was awful. And Jordan knew that from experience.

This case really wasn't much different than any of the others she and Woody worked on back in Boston; they'd have it closed in another day or two. All they needed were a few more pieces to the puzzle, that was all. A lot of murderers used sedatives to knock out their victims before actually applying any kind violent force. In this case, it probably meant this killer was smaller in stature than Paul Whitaker, and had less physical strength than him. The brutality of the stab wounds Jordan had seen on his body were most likely indicative of anger, and anger like that could come from anyone of _any_stature. A coworker, maybe? Whitaker was a lawyer; maybe he'd run afoul of the wrong client.

Jordan sipped at her coffee, her eyes roaming over the other papers scattered about the tabletop. Her thoughts were beginning to wander. It was getting harder and harder for her to concentrate, but she couldn't quite figure out why. She rolled her eyes and all but slammed her cup down on the table, frustrated beyond belief. The shrill ringing of her cell phone suddenly cut through the still air. Quickly scrambling around for her purse, she pulled it out and flipped it open.

"Hello?"

"Jordan, you're awake!" Nigel's cheerful voice greeted her from the other end. "I was afraid you'd still be sleeping; was going to leave you a message."

"Nope," Jordan stated less than enthusiastically, shaking her head. "I'm up. What's going on, Nige?"

"Just saw the morning news. Seems you and Woody have found another case, yes?"

"It's on the news?" she asked, surprised. "On the news in _Boston_?"

She could hear the shrug in his voice as he answered. "Well, you are two of our finest. It's a big deal. I mean, there was only a three minute segment, but it was there. Someone must have let it leak out."

"Lovely." Jordan sighed and slumped down in the chair until her head rested on the scalloped back of it. Holly must not be keeping very quiet. "Anything interesting?"

"Not in the segment, no. But you know me! Unable to keep from digging. I found some information on the woman who's keeping you there. Holly Giles-Whitaker?" Nigel paused, but didn't wait for her to say anything before plunging onward. "She's an heiress. Her father owned a private shipping company that was bought out by the national postal service a few years back. He made quite a sum of money – both off his business and off the sale. He died back in 2001 and left everything to his daughter. Over two million, all told."

"That is a lot of money," she mused softly, storing this bit of information away in her brain. Despite the papers scattered over the table, a pen was nowhere to be found. "What about her husband?"

"Not a cent to his name before he married her," he explained. The excitement in his voice made her smile. "He was a lawyer, but it seems he ran afoul of a dirty firm – Dooney & Cliff, I believe – and lost everything in a lawsuit he had no chance of winning. Bad bet, huh?"

"You could say that again."

"But according to the records I was able to find, Mister Whitaker was clean. Worked for Dooney & Cliff for seven years, but he was never on the bad side of the law himself; one of the innocents who was unwittingly pulled in. Every newspaper article I have read so far paints him as a saint. A lot of charity work after he married Holly."

Jordan scoffed. "Who would need to work for money when they can just marry into it?" She peered into her coffee mug, realizing with dawning confusion that she had forgotten to put creamer in it. "Thanks, Nigel, I really appreciate it. The police up here are being less than helpful."

"Any time, love. Let me know if you need me to find anything else for you."

She thanked him again and closed the phone, reaching to put it back in her purse and stopping quickly. Where had she put it? Pursing her lips in annoyance, she dropped the small phone to the table and leaned back again. Her head was still throbbing and unfortunately she had not thought to bring any ibuprofen on what was supposed to be a relaxing trip.

So. An heiress. That would explain Holly's attitude toward the "working class" – and why she had left a sour taste in Jordan's mouth during that first meeting.

She blinked slowly, still pretty tired and unable to keep the train of thought going. She glanced down at her phone again, considering picking it back up and calling her new doctor. But she knew he wouldn't have had time to study the scans or blood work from last week yet. And it was Sunday. He wouldn't even be in the office.

"Mmm, do I smell coffee?"

Jordan started and looked toward the doorway. Woody was standing there, running a hand through his messy hair and watching her. "Yeah, I just brewed some. There are cups in the second cabinet from the left."

"Great." He grinned at her, walking across the kitchen to find a mug. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better," she told him honestly, a small smile lighting her face. "Though I may have a bit of a headache today. Hey, could you bring the milk over? I forgot to get some."

Woody poured some milk into his own cup and obligingly set the plastic jug on the table next to her. She immediately reached for it. "Thanks."

"No problem." He pulled out the chair next to hers and sat down, stretching his legs before him. "I heard you on the phone a few minutes ago. Who called? Our dear friend, Officer Stone?"

Jordan chuckled. "Actually, it was Nigel. Our new case was on the news this morning."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"I wish." She smirked and took a long drink of coffee. "Nigel did some research for us, though. Turns out Holly is an heiress. Couple million, he said. Her husband was broke when they got married, and never went back to work after he got out of a bad firm. He volunteered with charities instead."

"Mister Do-Good, huh?" Woody looked at all the papers on the table, a frustrated expression coming over his face. "We should have known this yesterday. Details like that are important. Why is Stone so insistent on giving us as little help as possible?"

She just shrugged and picked up Holly's interview transcript again. She had gone to stay with a friend; hopefully they wouldn't need to bring her in again. "We're stepping on his toes. This is his jurisdiction."

"Whatever." Woody sighed and pushed a bunch of folders out of the way so that he could lean his arms against the table. "So, a bad law firm?"

"Yeah. Nigel gave me the name. It was…" Jordan paused, casting her eyes down as she wracked her brain for the information she had been given not ten minutes ago. "It started with a "D". Doug…Danny… Oh, Dooney. Dooney and something."

"Dooney & Cliff? They were busted a few years ago for foul practice. It was all over the news for weeks. They would go to any lengths to win a case. That's certainly interesting."

"What kinds of cases did they take?"

"Anything, so long as it went to trial or had good media coverage. Murders, divorces, whatever they could get their hands on. Lots of different lawyers worked there. This is a good lead. Maybe someone from the firm wanted him dead before he could spill something new."

Jordan was silent, thankful that he hadn't called her out on her faulty memory. She would just have to start writing things down. No big deal. She quickly glanced back up at Woody before he could tell that she was losing her nerve. Something else occurred to her, and she wet her lips. "Holly's maiden name is Giles."

Woody nodded, yawning. "Sounds familiar."

"So." She smiled at him again, trying to push back her growing anxiety as it made the throbbing in her head worse. "What's on the agenda for today?"

"I guess I should look into this firm, huh?"

xXx

"You don't know anything."

"Nope, not a thing." The man, Jeffery Hammond, shook his head and smirked, placing his grasped hands on the cold interview table. He had black hair spotted with grey, and beady brown eyes set back in a wrinkling face. "That was a long time ago, after all."

Woody crossed his arms, smelling the lie a mile away. "Right. Okay. You don't remember this man at all? Paul Whitaker? He worked with you for seven years."

"I didn't know him."

"What department did he work in?"

"I don't know that either. And if you are going to insist on continuing to ask me these questions, I am going to have to call an attorney."

There was a tap on the two-way glass in the far wall. Woody glanced at the man sitting in front of him for a long moment before turning away and leaving the room. Officer Stone was standing there, waiting for him. "Cut him loose. He don't know a thing."

"He's only been in there thirty minutes!" Woody snapped angrily.

"Yeah, and I told you to cut him loose." Stone glared at him. "You may be investigating this case, but you are _not_in charge."

The detective bit back a scathing remark and spun around to leave the precinct in a huff, not in the mood to argue. He stepped out into the mid-afternoon sunshine and sighed. This was definitely not how he had wanted to spend the week. He and Jordan weren't even _together_; they may as well have just stayed in Boston. Nothing would have been different. Except…

A faint smile tugged at his lips. Except she would be there when he got back to the house. That was certainly an up-side.

She had left not long before he had that morning, wanting to go back to the body to do another check for anything she may have missed the day before. Perhaps she was already back? His day had been a bust, but maybe she had found something.

He stared up into the perfect sky, starting to get annoyed. It had taken him hours to track down someone from the now defunct law firm with no help at all from the other officers, and then at least two more hours wasted to get him into the station. Jeffery Hammond. He had been a head honcho back in the day, and Woody had been lucky to see that he was just a few miles outside of the small town. Yet it had all been for nothing.

Nigel!

Woody suddenly stopped short, digging quickly in his pocket for his phone to call Jordan. Of course! Nigel would be able to find out everything he hadn't been able to about this Jeffery fellow. Hope was not lost quite yet.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing my stories over the last few weeks. I truly appreciate knowing that you are not only reading, but _enjoying_ what I've been working on. **

**Here's the next chapter! It's short, but that will be made up for later. Promise.**

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**Wonderland**

**Chapter 6**

"Jeffrey Hammond," Nigel mused over the phone. "He was a lawyer; got his degree from a university in Pennsylvania before moving out to Rhode Island to take the Bar examination. Passed with flying colors and was recruited almost immediately into Dooney & Cliff. Worked there for over twenty years. Never went back to work after the scandal was revealed."

Woody and Jordan heard the tapping of a keyboard on the other end before Nigel continued. "He was in charge of all of their medical cases before the firm was busted. All sorts of stuff, from malpractice to medical manslaughter. Looks like he had quite a number of people working under him, too. I do not see Whitaker on this list, though."

"Guess that's a dead end, too," Woody sighed, leaning away from where Jordan was holding the phone between them.

"I'll keep looking," came Nigel's irritated reply.

"Thanks, Nige," Jordan was quick to interject. She glared at Woody, who just shrugged as she put the phone to her ear so that he couldn't hear any more of their conversation. "This helps. We _both _appreciate you looking into this. Let me know if anything else comes up?"

She hung up and immediately turned on the detective sitting beside her. "There is no reason to be so rude to him, Woody! What is the matter with you?"

"I just…" He shrugged again and looked away from her, flustered. "This was just not how I imagined our little getaway would turn out. I'm sorry, I don't mean to be so short with everyone. I just want this case over so we can actually spend some time together."

Jordan gave him a halfhearted grin. "Yeah, I know. Not really how I wanted to be spending my time, either."

'Hey." Woody reached out to grab her arm as she stood. "It's only three o'clock. Let's just…go somewhere. We don't have to work right now. Please?"

She was silent for a moment and he was suddenly afraid she was going to say no - to revert back to the Jordan who would run at the slightest sign of trouble. But then she gave him a small smile. "Sure, okay. It's really nice outside. Why don't we go down to the beach?"

xXx

The two of them padded barefoot down the private pier toward the rocky coast. The waves were loud as the tide came in, and Jordan looked out toward the bay just as she had much earlier that morning. She took a deep breath, pulling the salty air into her lungs. It was lovely. For the first time since they arrived, she was truly happy to be there.

"Thanks, Woody," she said softly. "For bringing me here."

He grinned and slipped his hand into hers, squeezing her fingers. "Thank you for coming."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

He swayed a bit to playfully knock his hips against hers. They had reached the end of the pier, and Jordan gently pulled her hand out of his grasp so that she could roll up her pants' legs and step down onto the sand. It felt wonderful under her feet as she walked slowly forward. She sighed in contentment and glanced over her shoulder to see Woody following her toward the surf. Giving him one more smile, she turned to keep moving across the narrow beach and into the water until the waves rushed around her ankles.

The constant motion of the cool water was comforting, and with each backward tug she felt as though all of her anxieties, all of her problems, were being sucked away and out into the ocean, leaving her so blissfully peaceful. Without even thinking, she took a few more steps so that the waves lapped around her calves. All she could hear was beating of the waves against the shore and the wind rushing past her ears. It was like a sanctuary, standing there with the world so far away.

"Jordan."

The call was so quiet she nearly didn't hear it. But then Woody was standing beside her, resting his hand on her shoulder. "You okay?"

Jordan nodded, unable to meet his eyes. His gaze was so penetrating; he would have been able to see straight through her. "It's gorgeous," she said, avoiding his question and gesturing out vaguely before her. "The ocean."

"It kind of makes everything else seem insignificant, huh?"

"Yeah, you could say that." A bigger wave suddenly crashed around her legs and she blinked, realizing for the first time how far out she was. "Woody, your pants are getting wet."

He just chuckled at the ridiculousness of the statement, dropping his hand to her waist to pull her closer. "So are yours. Really, Jordan, are you okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Just...tired." Jordan shook her head dismissively, but she could tell that he knew she was lying. He was a good cop. To his credit, though, he didn't say anything. It had been pretty obvious in the days since the crash that he was nervous, scared of pushing her away as their relationship changed yet again - and this time in a much more definitive direction. He had been so _patient _with her over the years; if she couldn't be honest with him now, she had no hope of ever finding that mythical "perfect relationship" with _any_one. Not when a man who was pretty much the perfect match for her wild personality was standing right there, waiting with a genuine patience no one else had ever shown.

Finally and with much effort, she turned to him. "My short-term memory is going," she said quietly and with as much medical detachment as she could manage. His eyes widened in surprise as she suddenly opened her heart to him. "I'm not seizing or blacking out anymore, but I'm having episodes where I suddenly can't remember what I'm doing, or how I got somewhere. Not as bad as before, though." She shrugged noncommittally, trying very hard not to let her own words sink in. "I had some tests done last week after we got home, but the results haven't come back yet. There's a chance it's nothing. There's also a chance it's growing again and slowly starting to kill me."

She tried to chuckle and took a small step back, not wanting to look at him. "There you go - the truth."

Woody reached out and pulled her into a tight embrace. "Does anyone else know?"

"No." Jordan shook her head, turning her gaze over his shoulder and back to the water to keep herself grounded. "I didn't want to say anything until I knew one way or the other. No point scaring everyone, you know?"

"You're not going to die," he told her forcefully, just as he had those months ago after he had first found out with everyone else that she was sick.

But this time, she did not try to rebuke his words. She'd already accepted the bleak reality of what could happen if that vile thing had begun to grow in her brain again. Instead, she swallowed back her fears and pulled back so that she could see his face. "Thank you."

Woody stared at her, attempting to read any other messages behind her words. But there were none; she was being completely honest with him. Once again, he began to feel guilty about having called her doctor the previous morning. She'd just needed time, and he had been impatient. It had been a brief lapse in judgment, but he had just been so worried...

Jordan saw the strange hesitation flash through him and she stepped back a bit, confused. "What's wrong?"

"I..." This was bad, Woody knew. Very bad. But he had to tell her before she found out from her doctor - because he _would _say something, he was sure. Suddenly, it all spilled out in a rush before he could even think of a tactful way to begin. "I called your doctor. I was just so worried, and you seemed -"

"Wait, you did _what_?" She pulled away from him completely, fury bubbling up from her stomach and making her face flush. "Woody, that is _not _okay!"

"I'm sorry, I -"

"No!" She vehemently swatted his hands away when he tried to reach for her. "I am trying _so hard_ here, and then you go and do _this_? Why couldn't you just trust me? And just when I thought..." She trailed off and turned away from his pained expression. The hurt she felt was almost blinding in its intensity, bringing the sting of tears to her eyes. She needed to get away, to rethink everything.

"Trust you? Have you even told your own father that you had major surgery on your _brain_?" A horrified look came over his face as the words left his mouth and he immediately tried to take them back. "Jordan, no, I'm sorry, I didn't -"

"Just stop!" She clenched her fists in an attempt to keep her temper under control as it threatened to explode on him. Unable to say anything else without anger, she turned and began to walk out of the water and toward the boardwalk. Away from him.

"Where are you going?"

Woody's voice was panicked, and she spun back around, livid now. Tears began to drop down over her cheeks, but she didn't care to do anything about it. "I am going back to the crime scene," she spat bitterly. "I'm not _leaving_; you have the car keys, remember?" The breath left her lungs in a frustrated huff as she refused to meet his eyes, almost afraid of what she might see there. "I need some space, Woody. If we have this conversation right now, you will not like the way it ends. Let me cool down. _Alone_."

And then she was gone, trekking up across the rocks toward the neighboring house.


	7. Chapter 7

**As always, thank you to everyone who has been reading - and a special thanks to those of you who review.  
**

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**Chapter 7**

Still fuming, Jordan pulled an Army knife from her pocket and cut through the large "DO NOT ENTER" police sticker over the Whitaker's front door. Her feet were sandy and she had left her shoes behind, but she was too angry to really care. Besides, the crime scene had already been scoured for forensics, both by herself and by the local investigators; there was nothing left to contaminate. Even though, she wiped her feet over the rug in the foyer out of respect.

In all honesty, she knew that she had only come here to escape Woody rather than to dig around. She still would, of course, but she didn't have much hope of finding anything new. Especially not as distracted as she currently was.

Why had he done something so stupid? So _disrespectful _toward her? Anger sat heavily in her stomach and she chewed on her lip, wondering what the hell she was supposed to do now.

It had taken a good deal of self-control not to run to the bedroom, pack her things, and call a taxi to get her out of there. But she had stayed. Even as angry as she was - she did still love him. Tears stung her eyes again as the bitterness of their argument rose in her mind. How would she ever be able to trust him again? She had been trying so hard to make their relationship actually work this time. And now... What he did - it was a huge breach of privacy, and the fact that he didn't trust _her _to be honest with him hurt more than she could have thought.

_But at least he told me,_ a small voice in her head chimed in. _And he did it out of fear, not out of a need to be nosy. JD would have done something like that just to spite me._

Jordan sighed and looked around the foyer, trying to push back memories of Pollack as they came forward to tangle with everything else. He and Woody were not the same; thinking about him wouldn't help anything. The marble floor was cool under her feet as she stepped forward. The living room had been quickly cleaned, the blood wiped off of the walls and the entire sofa gone. There were still smears of it on the carpet, though, and she steered clear of the room entirely. Instead, she turned her attention to the kitchen.

It was just as grand as the one she and Woody had been using, only not nearly as practical. There were decorative glass jars on the counter tops taking up far too much space, and the oven did not look like it had ever been used. Holly and her husband had probably never had to cook for themselves - not with money coming out their ears. The room was cold and bland, no sense of personality to be found. There was, however, a large knife block by the stove. Jordan walked over to it, a thought occurring to her. The second largest blade was not there. A quick check of the sink and dishwasher turned up nothing.

"The murder weapon," she mused aloud. "How did we miss this the first time?"

Then she remembered. Stone and Jones had been in charge of searching the kitchen; she and Woody hadn't even been allowed in here that afternoon, instead confined to the living room where the murder had actually happened. _ That bastard. _She scowled. Knowing about this was important to the damned investigation. If she hadn't come back, they probably wouldn't have found out until they actually located the thing. _What were those two thinking, hiding things like that?_

There was nothing else of interest in the kitchen, so Jordan turned down the hallway toward the stairs and began to make her way to the second floor. A bathroom, two unused bedrooms, and a den with a dusty flatscreen TV. Nothing helpful there, either, except a disgusting display of wealth and a strange _Alice in Wonderland _painting on a guest room wall. She kept going up to the third floor.

The master bedroom was huge. A king-size canopy bed was centered on the far wall, large mahogany dressers lining another. Two floor-to-ceiling windows let in the bright afternoon sun, seeming to ignite the off-white carpet. Mind wandering again, she peered outside. Their view here was the same as it was from the guest room she and Woody had been sharing. Heart tightening as she recalled waking up in his arms that morning, she noticed that he had left the beach as well. She had no idea where he had gone, and that made her oddly nervous.

Refusing to dwell on it, she turned away from the window and looked around the room again. Nothing up here was out of place. Holly hadn't mentioned anything having been stolen, which pointed to Paul's murder being more personal than a robbery. Only his wedding band was gone. Which, Jordan realized with a start, Holly hadn't said anything about.

Something about this didn't feel right.

Growing concerned now, Jordan went into the large master bathroom and flipped on the light. Everything was a clean and bright white. She took a deep breath. Bleach. Just enough to be noted under the smell of standard bathroom cleansers. The killer had been in here.

_Why the hell didn't Stone look up here? _she thought furiously, knowing now that her lack of shoes could turn out to be rather bad. Suddenly not caring as much as she should, she went over to the sink and opened the medicine cabinet. Aspirin, first aid things, a woman's razor, some makeup items, creams, cleansers - medications. She stared at the three bottles, hesitating. They were opaque white, and the distributor was not one she recognized. Evergreen Springs. A private clinic?

"Screw it," she muttered, pulling the bottles down without gloves. All three were for the same medicine – a form of clozapine. They had been dispensed for Holly over six months, but the bottles were still full. Jordan pushed the toiletries off of the bathroom counter and opened the bottles, spilling out the pills to do a quick count. Sixty dispensed for each refill, and Holly had only taken a few of them - twenty over the last six months. Jordan looked at the name of the medication again, her stomach dropping quickly.

Clozapine was used to manage schizophrenia.

xXx

Woody stood on the beach for a while after Jordan stormed off. He knew he had made a mistake, but he had horribly underestimated her reaction to finding out. Now she was gone and he was out here alone, all because of his damned worry. She hadn't _left _left...but how was he ever going to repair this? He could feel her slipping through his fingers, and that terrified him.

A faint buzzing, only just heard over the waves, snapped him from his thoughts. His phone. He took it from his pocket and glanced at the caller ID, recognizing the number immediately. Holly. Grudgingly, he opened it to answer.

"Hello?"

"Detective Hoyt? Is that you?"

She sounded terrified, and Woody immediately stood up straighter when he heard her start to sob. "Yes, Holly, it's me. Is everything okay?"

There was a scuffling sound on the other end of the line, and then she cried out, "No! I think - oh, God, I think someone is trying to break into the house!"

"Stay calm, Holly," he told her, already running across the sand and back into his friend's house to get the keys to his car and his service weapon from upstairs. "Where's your friend? Where's Karen?"

"I don't know!" she wailed. "She's gone, and I'm alone! Please, please help me!"

"I'm on my way. Find a place to hide and call the police. I'll be there soon."

He knew he should call Jordan, or at least leave her a note. But she was so furious she probably wouldn't even answer the phone. Deciding he'd just deal with her wrath at being left behind later, he gathered his things and scrambled into his car.

xXx

Jordan spun back around, pieces slowly starting to fall into place.

She could see the large bed through the doorway, and her gaze caught something dark on the sun-lightened floor next to the closest end table. She grabbed a hand towel and rushed out of the bathroom, leaving the pills out on the counter, to kneel beside the bed. Five small drops of dried blood, and a thin smear of it on the knob of the drawer in the end table. Using the towel to cover her hand this time, she pulled the drawer open and looked inside. It was empty save a folded piece of paper. Excited with the discovery, she carefully picked it up and unfolded it.

"Walrus..." she read softly, studying the single word written in tiny letters across the bottom corner of the page. There was a bloody fingerprint on the other corner, and a faint smile flitted over her lips. _Bingo_. She repeated the word again, hoping saying it aloud would help her figure out what it meant.

But then her head shot up in realization. Walrus. Like "The Walrus and the Carpenter" - the poem from _Alice in Wonderland_, and that hideous painting in the guest bedroom downstairs.

Standing so quickly that everything spun around her, she dashed from the master bedroom and flew down the stairs, paper still in hand. She found the guest room again easily and immediately began rummaging through it. Pink bedding, pink walls, paper flowers, a white wicker trunk. That painting. It looked like a child's bedroom, but Holly and Paul had no children. Jordan dropped to her knees and pulled up the bed skirt with her free hand. Nothing. The closet was completely empty as well.

She took a step back and turned her attention to the painting hanging above a small dresser. It was roughly eighteen by twenty-four inches, done with oils. The paint had yet to begin cracking so it was relatively new. There was Alice in her blue dress, the Rabbit beside her. And there, in the background, was the Walrus and his oysters. The whole thing was very ugly and poorly constructed, but...

Acting on a hunch, Jordan dropped the paper and hand towel onto the top of the dresser and took the painting right off the wall. Nothing was behind it, or on the back of the canvas. Not ready to give up, she placed the painting carefully on the floor and instead leaned against the dresser in the hopes of moving it. Surprisingly, it slid over easily - revealing a hole in the wall that looked like it had been punched in with a hammer.

"What have we here?"

Jordan slowly crouched down by the hole and tried to look inside, stunned that she had actually found something, but there was not enough light to see by. Not pausing to think of possible consequences, she reached in and felt around. The hole itself was less than a foot wide, but there was a good bit of space behind the drywall. Perfect for hiding things. Her fingers met a smooth surface, a box of some kind. Holding her breath in anticipation, she pulled it out.

The box was long and flat, made of polished wood with a simple clasp holding it closed. It only just fit through the hole.

Excited, she pulled her phone from the back pocket of her jeans and flipped it open to call Woody. But then she stopped, remembering why she was even there in the first place. "Damn it." She closed the phone again and set it down. There was no point in trying. He probably wouldn't even answer.

Jordan sighed in defeat and leaned forward on her knees. "Guess I'm on my own," she whispered, carefully lifting the lid to the box and peering in to see what had been so painstakingly hidden. It was a book. Not just any book, though, she realized as she lifted it out. _Alice in Wonderland_. There were some papers under it, but she ignored them for the time being, instead opening the cover and flipping through some of the pages.

Every page was covered in writing. Most of it was unintelligible, having been written over so many times that it was impossible to make out any words. But some words did stick out. Walrus, sun, money, sea, sand - repeated over and over again over many of the pages. This, though...despite the break in the case, this meant very little. So what, if Holly was schizophrenic? Schizophrenia was not a disease that made someone kill people, not like the rap it had been given from Hollywood. It was a mental disorder, yes, but those who suffered from it were rarely violent toward others.

"This doesn't make any sense."

She placed the book in her lap, turning her attention to the other papers. Medical records, most of them. Letters from doctors. According to what Jordan saw there, Holly had been receiving treatment since she was fifteen, right after she hit puberty. Everything had been going great, the treatments were allowing her function well, and she had been living a normal life. She had been under close medical supervision for her entire adult life. What changed?

A new paper caught her eye, a letter addressed to Holly. It was dated six months ago, supposedly from her current doctor. "No need to continue medication," it said. There was no notation that she would be switched to something else, only that she "no longer needed" anything. Not even the visits to the clinic she had been making for twenty years.

_That's not right._ Schizophrenia was not curable; those affected had to take medication to control it or they would just relapse. There had to be some kind of mistake. If this doctor told Holly to stop taking her medicine and her relapse had led to the death of her husband - then Holly was not responsible at all. Her _doctor _was. Henry Sonders, according to the typed signature.

Jordan reached down to find anything else from this man, but her fingers touched something else. Paul Whitaker's wedding ring.

"Well shit."

Suddenly the front door flew open downstairs, hitting the wall with a loud thud. "Who's in here? You're trespassing on police property!"

She jumped and quickly shoved everything back into the box, pushing it right under the dresser. It was Officer Stone. Her fright vanished when she heard him thudding into the foyer, replaced by an anger she did not feel the desire to hold back any longer.

"Where the _hell _do you get off," she yelled, leaving the room and standing at the top of the stairs so that she could see the officer below, "barring me from fully investigating a crime scene?" Stone opened his mouth to rebut, but she barreled over him. "The murder weapon was a kitchen knife! I knew that from my autopsy, but when were you going to tell us that it came from Whitaker's own kitchen?"

"Look, lady, there -"

"No, you listen to me!" Jordan started to descend the steps, and Stone glared at her, taken aback by the abrupt change from the laidback woman he had seen the day before. "There was blood upstairs in the master bedroom! Did you even _look _there? What about the bathroom? The whole place had been doused in bleach. An entire day wasted, because you can't be assed to do your damn job!"

"There was no need to search up there," he snapped, irked by her chastising.

"No?" She reached the bottom of the stairs and came to stand toe-to-toe with the cop. "Holly killed her husband," she hissed furiously, "because she has an idiot for a doctor. All the evidence was right under your nose."

"Holly? No, you must be mistaken."

Stone took a step back, ready to turn away from her and their conversation, but Jordan just followed him and poked her finger hard into his chest. "It was a horrible accident, but that's what happened. Go talk to her psychiatrist. Henry Sonders from Evergreen Springs. And I want to be there when you interrogate him. Where is Holly right now?"

"At her friend's house," he replied, cowed and finally somewhat listening to her.

"Send someone over to bring her in."

He blinked at that, too stubborn to take a command from someone he didn't even know. "Now look here, Jordan, that's not your call to make!"

"It's _Doctor Cavanaugh_, you arrogant bastard. Do it, or someone else might get hurt." Jordan narrowed her eyes at him, attempting to reign herself in just a bit with the hope that he might actually do as she asked. "Holly needs help from a competent doctor, and the one she has now should be locked up. It's his fault Paul was killed, not hers. This Sonders - he took her off her meds for a reason. I bet he even gave her the xylazine she used to sedate her husband."

"Why would he do that?"

"I don't know yet, but I _do _know he's involved in this."

Stone considered her words for a long moment before finally sighing and bowing his head. "Fine. I'll send someone to get her, and this...this doctor. What about your detective? Does he want some part in all this?"

Jordan bit back a scathing remark and just shook her head. "I'll have him drive me over to your station once you get Sonders in custody."


	8. Chapter 8

**As always, thank you to everyone who has been reading! And to aurora151989, jj, and Cittycat17 - thank you very much for your kind reviews. It's so nice to know that people are still enjoying this. Just a few chapters left to go now!**

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**Chapter 8**

Woody's car was gone and the townhouse was empty when Jordan returned not long after her...conversation with Officer Stone. The pissed cop had finally agreed to not only pick up the doctor, but to get a search warrant for his home and office. It was a giant leap in the right direction, and Jordan was almost positive that this doctor would have a lot of interesting things to say when the heat was turned on him. Poor Holly. Sonders should rot in prison for the way he treated her.

Jordan swallowed back another wave of anger and set her spare key on the kitchen island by her purse. The back door had been unlocked, though, and she wondered where Woody had gone without locking the doors. Stone hadn't said anything about him being down at the precinct. Maybe he had just gone for a drive or something. She knew that he was furious with her, and she didn't really blame him. But damn it, she was angry, too! He'd had no right to go behind her back like that.

She turned around and leaned against the edge of the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. She was _hurt _more than anything, if she were honest with herself, and that made all of this even worse - that she cared so much and allowed him so fully into her life after all these years. That she had let herself trust him. Only to have the universe laugh in her face when she was finally beginning to feel happy.

_But he told me the truth,_ that little part of her mind pointed out again. _He cares about me also. That's all he was trying to show_.

"Maybe he cares too much," she muttered, tilting her head back to stare listlessly at the speckled ceiling. She had thought she was ready to move forward with him, thought she was ready to move forward with her life in general. What if she wasn't? Woody wouldn't stick around if she pushed him away again. Not this time. Was she really willing to risk losing him forever?

No. She wasn't. It was time to let go and make this work. She deserved to be happy - they _both _did. As soon as he got back, she would talk with him. No anger.

In the scheme of things, calling her doctor was a pretty small mistake. Right? He would never do it again, she knew. Especially not once she spoke with him about it calmly. She also knew that he would never purposefully do something to hurt her, and that eased the pain in her heart a bit more. Woody would go to the ends of the earth for her; he had proven that over and over. It was time for her to finally give him just as much.

She shifted, noticing as she did that her legs were grimy from the saltwater she'd been standing in earlier. It was uncomfortable all of a sudden, and Jordan pushed away from the counter to make her way upstairs to the bathtub. When she got to the bedroom, though, she stopped short in surprise.

Woody's suitcase was upended on the bed, his clothes strewn everywhere. Jordan's eyebrows furrowed as she walked slowly over to the mess. This was odd - he was the kind of guy who folded his clothes as he took them off at night. Why had he left everything like this?

Confused, she reached out and gently picked up two of his shirts with the compelling desire to put them back the way they should be. But then - his holster was empty. His gun was gone. Worried now, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed his number.

There was a vibrating from beneath the clothes, and she cursed under her breath. He'd left his phone. He had gone somewhere with his weapon and he'd _left his damned phone behind_. She snatched the cell off the bed and flipped it open, hoping that maybe it could tell her where he had gone. Calls from her, calls from Stone, calls from Holly... She scrolled through quickly, wanting to find the most recent one he'd answered. There!

He'd answered a call from Holly about forty minutes ago. That must be where he was.

"Damn it, Woody!" she yelled to no one, throwing his phone back onto the bed and running out of the room to find her shoes.

Trying very hard not to panic, she pulled out her own phone again and called Stone. He answered on the third ring, and, not even giving him a chance to speak, she asked, "Have you already sent someone over to get Holly?"

"Not yet," the man told her slowly. She could practically hear him rolling his eyes, and she had to bite her tongue to keep from screaming at him. "It's a small precinct, ma'am. Everyone is busy right now."

"Then get your own ass over there!" Jordan snapped, shoving her feet into her shoes and tying them quickly. "Or Jones, or anyone! The police need to be there, right now!"

"Hold your horses, Doctor Cavanaugh," he said, his words dripping with bitterness. "Someone will get there when they get there. Holly's not going anywhere."

"If Woody is dead because of your idiocy, his blood is on your hands."

With that, she hung up and sprinted from the house. She only hesitated for a moment upon remembering that she didn't have a car. Two blocks to Karen's house; she could run that in her sleep, and since Stone was outright refusing to be of any help...

_He's going to be okay,_ she thought forcefully, hating how helpless she felt as her feet pounded against the pavement. _He'll be okay._

After what felt like far too long, she reached Karen's home. Unlike Holly, her friend had a large house with a generous yard and a stereotypical white picket fence. Woody's car was in the driveway. Slowing enough to go unnoticed, Jordan crept in through the gate and up to a front window. Heavy curtains had been pulled closed over it to block out the bright sun, but there was just enough of a crack to see through at the bottom. No movement inside, and the only light came from what was likely the kitchen at the back of the house.

Very quietly, Jordan made her way around to the back yard. There was a small porch, and a set of French doors that led into a bedroom. Another door at the far end was cracked open. The kitchen. She couldn't hear anything, and that made her nervous.

Knowing how dangerous this was but not caring, she tiptoed to the open door and looked inside. Holly wasn't in there. She pushed the door further open by a hair, craning her neck to find anything else. It was a large kitchen - two ovens, a wood-paneled refrigerator, large counters, and an island. And there, on the floor on the other side of that island, she could just see two feet.

"Woody!" Forgetting to watch herself, Jordan ran into the kitchen and knelt at his side, heart pounding so fast she felt ill. He was facedown on the floor, not moving. "Oh, my God - Woody!" She pressed her fingers to his neck, desperately searching for a pulse. She found it - thready, but there. No blood, either, so just the sedative to get him down. Starting to shake, she carefully rolled him to his back and touched his face. Holly hadn't hurt him, but, remembering the high amount of xylazine she had found in Paul, Woody had been given far too much. Enough to kill him if he wasn't taken to a hospital fast enough.

"Woody, can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?" She cupped his cheek, turning his face toward her as she leaned close. "Come on..."

His eyes briefly fluttered open, but he wasn't able to focus on her. "Jo...?"

"Yeah - yeah, I'm here. Jesus," she muttered, her gaze roaming wildly around the kitchen. She needed to get him out of there.

"My leg," he breathed. "She shot something into my leg. Karen..."

And then she saw the other woman, sprawled on the floor by the sink. Woody had obviously been trying to get to her when he fell. Jordan quickly crawled over to her and grabbed her wrist. "She's alive." Not willing to waste another second, she snatched out her phone and dialed 911.

"We need an ambulance - and the police - at 1430 White Oak Drive," she rushed to say as soon as the call went through. They were running out of time, and she still didn't know where Holly was. "There's an officer and civilian down. Tell them to hurry."

"I've put your request through," the dispatcher told her calmly. "You will have help very soon. I'm going to need you to stay on the phone. What's your name?"

"Jordan," she answered distractedly, scooting back to Woody and checking his pulse again. He was fully unconscious. She patted his cheek with the palm of her hand, trying in vain to get a response. "Hey, Woody! Open your eyes!"

"Jordan," the woman on the other end of the line said, "everything will be all right. What happened?"

"I, um - I'm not sure. I just found them." She moved her fingers back to his neck, worriedly counting the beats of his heart. "He's dying," she cried desperately into the phone. "She overdosed him on a tranquilizer, there's nothing I can do to help! He needs an ambulance!"

"Help is coming -"

"Who are you?"

Jordan started, her head shooting up to find Holly standing in the large doorway. She closed the phone and dropped it to the floor, raising one of her hands before her in a show of peace. "I'm Jordan, Holly. You know me. We just met a few days ago. Remember?"

"No." Holly slowly shook her head. She looked terrible, and so, so frightened. "What do you want with me? Why are you here?"

"I'm here to help you, Holly," Jordan whispered, her fingers still at Woody's neck and silently counting the beats of his heart.

"No, you're not!" she suddenly snapped, stepping forward with wide eyes. "The Rabbit sent you! I can't go back to him!" Her hands tangled in her hair to tug at it furiously. Stands of it fell to the floor and she began to shake her head. "I can't, I can't, I can't! They want me..."

Jordan watched her warily, trying to listen for sirens. None could be heard. "Who is the Rabbit? What - what does he want?"

Tears started to stream down Holly's face. "I didn't want to hurt him!" she wailed, digging her nails into her scalp in agony. "But he made me!"

"Who, Holly?" Woody's pulse was slowing dangerously. _Where is that ambulance?_

"The Rabbit, the Rabbit! That Rabbit - in the white coat..." She shook her head back and forth again, gaze roaming around the room, unfocused. "Gave me... He gave me... To use on the Walrus. But I didn't want to! _I didn't want to_!" Her hands fell from her hair and dragged down her face. "The vials... He told me that it would all stop if I used them - it would _stop _if I _stopped _the Walrus. The _Rabbit_said that - it would stop. Rabbit in the white coat. I want it to stop! Make it stop!"

Jordan watched as she began to pace around the island, pulling at her hair again until it was stained with bright red blood. A startling thought occurred to her, and she swallowed, trying to think of a tactful way to go about this. "Is he your doctor, Holly? Is your doctor the Rabbit?"

"Yes, yes, yes. Rabbit in the white coat." Holly nodded so fervently that one of her earrings fell out. "He gave me - gave me - needles, for the Walrus. Told me to - to _inject _him. Everyone. And then, then...then I had to -" She broke off and made a wild swinging gesture with her hand, coming to slam it violently on the countertop. "Dead. Dead, dead."

It took great effort not to jump at the sound, and Jordan took a quick breath, hoping she could stay calm long enough for help to arrive. Woody's gun was on the counter by Holly's hand, much too close for comfort. "Is this...is the Rabbit your _new_doctor? The one you started seeing six months ago?"

She just nodded again and turned away, muttering something unintelligible to herself.

So it really was the doctor's fault. And if Holly was to be believed, he had even given her the sedative to use on her husband, all the while planting vicious thoughts into her head as she got worse and worse. _What in the hell was he playing at?_

But then Holly spun around again and her wide, frightened eyes landed on the gun. Jordan's heart all but stopped when the other woman snatched it up and pointed it shakily at her. "_Why_ are you _here_?" she asked again, voice rising. "What do you want with me?" She tried to take the safety off, but her hands were trembling far too much to manage it.

"I want to help you, Holly," Jordan pleaded, raising one hand before her again and keeping the other firmly pressed to the dying pulse in Woody's neck. _No, God - please no._"I just want to help you, that's all."

"You can't help me..."

There was a real fear in Holly's eyes. She slowly began to lower the gun, but whether that was because she was losing the strength to keep it aloft or because she was no longer wanting to pose a threat, Jordan did not know. "They'll come after me!" she cried, stumbling backwards and hitting the edge of the counter. The gun fell from her limp hand and clattered loudly to the floor. "I know too much. He _told _me too_ much_. They'll come after me - they'll kill me!"

"No one is going to kill you, Holly. I won't let that happen."

A fait wail could be heard in the distance, and Jordan almost sagged in relief. The police - and the ambulance. Help was coming; they were almost out of this dangerous mess. Woody was going to be okay. He had to be okay. Just keep her talking...

"Did he tell you why? Did your doctor tell you why you needed to stop the...the walrus?"

"He knew too much, too," Holly breathed, her gaze darting every which way around the room, seeing invisible threats all around her. "The Rabbit…needed me to make him stop before…before he…"

She did not have a chance to finish before the police came barging through the front door and tore through the house. Holly screamed and fell to her knees, hands tangling in her hair again as she began to rock her upper body back and forth.

"Don't hurt her!" Jordan yelled as an officer reached out to grab the shaking woman off the floor and handcuff her. Holly was wailing, her voice starting to crack, and it took three more police to drag her out of the room. Four EMTs rushed into the kitchen as they left and immediately began to start treatment on Woody and Karen.

Jordan jumped back out of their way. All she could do now was wait.


	9. Chapter 9

**Thank you very much to my readers, as always, and particularly to Cittykat17 and Tracey for your kind reviews.**

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**Chapter 9**

Jordan leaned back in the uncomfortable hospital chair and pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her calves. It had been about five hours since he'd been admitted to the ICU, but Woody was still unconscious. She knew it would take a while for his body to recover, and she kept telling herself it was just a matter of time. _Just a little bit longer_. He'd be fine. And yet that nagging fear that she might be on the cusp of losing him again refused to leave her mind. She blinked, keeping her eyes focused on his calm face.

The EMTs had immediately started him on a round of activated charcoal to absorb the toxins from his blood as soon as he was secured in the ambulance. While charcoal was typically used in cases of ingested poisons, it worked pretty well in emergencies like this - and it had done its job exceptionally. The doctor at the hospital had run blood work every hour since Woody's arrival, and the tranquilizer was slowly being phased out, no transfusions or other steps necessary. Karen was being treated in the same way; she was also doing very well.

Holly had been taken into custody but, at Jordan's adamant request, she had been brought to the hospital's mental health ward rather than being booked directly into the women's detention center. She'd have to be transferred to a state prison at some point, but she would be admitted to their mental health ward, just like here at the public hospital. She'd finally be getting the medical help she so desperately needed. And, if Jordan had her way with the prosecutor, no criminal charges would be brought against her. _None _of this was Holly's fault.

Not long after Holly was brought here, Jordan had gotten a call from Officer Stone saying that they'd put out an APB on Holly's doctor. The search of his home and office had yielded little so far, but their CSU had recovered a computer that they were currently scouring. She had bit back a scathing,_ "told you so!"_, and politely asked to be updated when the doctor was brought in for questioning. Stone had grudgingly agreed.

And now here she was, five hours later, still at Woody's bedside.

All of her anger with him was gone. She was still a little hurt - but she knew he had only gone behind her back like that because he was scared. She could give him that, just this once. They would have to talk about it, definitely. But she also knew that he would never do it again and, despite her misgivings earlier, she still trusted him with every fiber of her being. _Guess that's what it means to be in love, _she mused absently, toying with the fringe of the blanket wrapped over her shoulders.

She couldn't help but remember the last time he had been in the hospital like this, after he had been shot. When he had venomously demanded that she leave and never speak to him again. It was a memory she tried so hard to hide away; they'd been through so much together since that horrible period, and neither one of them was the same person they had been then. But through it all...the love had never dwindled. It may have been forced into dormancy for a while as a method of self-defense, but it had never truly disappeared - even when he had been treating her worse than the dirt on his shoes. Losing him now, after they had survived all that life could throw at them, was not an option.

Love. It was still a strange concept to her, and one she was still a bit afraid of. _At least he believed me this time around, right? Plenty of time to work through it. With him._

The door to Woody's room opened and a nurse came inside. "How's he doing?"

"No change yet," Jordan said, her eyes not leaving his face. She had made it clear within the first few minutes of his admission that she was a doctor, and so far the staff had been very accommodating in keeping her up to date. "His BP came up some about thirty minutes ago, though. Almost back to normal."

"Good!" The nurse - Betsy, her name tag read - gave her a wide smile as she checked his chart. "We're still waiting on the most recent blood tests, but we should have those soon." Betsy paused as she replaced the file in the metal sling at the foot of his bed, her grin faltering. "I'm sorry to have to ask this, Doctor, but are you family? Visiting hours were over a while ago. Unless you're related to him, you're going to have to leave until Detective Hoyt can be moved to the standard recovery unit."

"Family?" she repeated quietly.

She had known this was coming; only close relatives of patients were allowed in the ICU. That they had let her stay this long without question was actually pretty surprising. But, more than anything else, she did not want to leave him. And besides, neither of them had much family to speak of. All they had was each other. So, not much louder than a whisper, she said, "Yes. I'm family."

Betsy let out a genuine sigh of relief. "I'm glad. It would be awful, for him to be here all alone." Not pushing for any more information - and possibly knowing that the medical examiner was expanding the truth - she adjusted the dosage on the charcoal and IV drips. "Our cafeteria is on the ground floor. The food isn't half bad, if you get hungry enough to eat."

"Thank you." Jordan gave her a weak but sincere smile. "I really appreciate your help."

The nurse left, and Jordan settled in for a long, sleepless night.

xXx

At some point after midnight had come and gone, she had moved the chair closer to Woody's bed so that she could rest her crossed arms and head on the mattress next to him. It had been comfortable enough for her to doze and, in that weird half-awake half-asleep state, she only just noticed when a warm hand lightly touched her hair.

"Jo?"

She blinked and blearily raised her head, forgetting for a moment where she was. And then her eyes met Woody's foggy blue ones, and she jerked upward in elation. "You're awake!" Before he could so much as grab her hand, Jordan had jumped to her feet, checking monitors and fluid levels and hitting the call button for a nurse. "Thank God, you're finally awake."

Woody watched her, confused, as she bustled around him. "You're here."

Jordan stopped moving and turned to stare down at him, suddenly at a loss as she was thrown back to that other hospital room in Boston - just before he had kicked her out. It was happening all over again, wasn't it? Trying her best not to show the fear that was suddenly making her heart pound, she grinned. "Of course I'm here."

"She hasn't left your side once since you were admitted, Detective." It was Betsy, answering the assistance call Jordan had made and overhearing the small conversation. "Glad to have you back with us!"

Jordan backed against the wall, not wanting to interfere as Betsy pulled the stethoscope from around her neck and manually took his pulse. Woody looked over at her, his gaze pleading, but she was unable to move while the nurse continued to check him over. Her heart had gone from pounding to thudding painfully in her chest, terrified now that her anger from before had driven an irreparable wedge between them. She crossed her arms over her middle, watching silently as Betsy worked.

After a few minutes, the nurse drew a last vial of blood, marked something in his chart, and turned to the medical examiner. "Everything looks great," she said, clearly enough for Woody to hear as well. "Just need to test this blood here to make sure the tranquilizer has been purged, and then you'll be free to go into the care of your lovely lady friend."

"And Karen?" Jordan asked for them both, not commenting on the 'lady friend' bit.

Betsy smiled kindly. "She's already been taken home by her husband. Now get some more rest, Mister Hoyt, and you'll be right as rain before you know it." She patted his hand, then Jordan's shoulder, and left the room.

"Woody-"

"Jordan-"

They both tried to speak at the same time, and then both stopped abruptly. Jordan scuffed her foot against the tiled floor, swallowing harshly and not sure what she was even going to say. Woody was the first to break the pregnant silence.

"I'm sorry, Jo," he whispered, reaching out for her with a desperation that made her heart melt and all her fears disappear. "I'm so, so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I-I should have just..."

"Oh, Woody," she murmured as she went back to his bedside, taking his searching hand in hers and squeezing it tightly. "_I'm _sorry I lost my temper. I know you were just worried." She brought their clasped hands up to her lips, gently pressing a kiss to the tips of his fingers. "Just...don't go behind my back like that again, okay?"

"Scout's honor," he told her with as much of a charming smile as he could muster. "So, um...what happened?"

"From what I gathered at the time," she began slowly, sitting back in the chair, "you went to Karen's house to help Holly. She surprised you, I guess - you said before you passed out that she injected something into your leg. Do you remember?"

Woody's eyebrows knitted as he tried to recall the incident. "Vaguely. I fell in the kitchen...trying to get to Karen."

"That's where I found you," she confirmed with a slight nod.

"And Holly? Oh, God, Jordan - did she hurt you? Are you okay?"

Jordan chuckled and lowered her eyes from his intense gaze. "I'm fine, Woody. She was so frightened by the time I got there, she was unable to even take the safety off your gun. I kept her talking until the police arrived, then the ambulance came, and now here we are."

"She got my gun?" He shook his head, slightly ashamed. "Man, I should never have gone. I _knew _something felt off. What's wrong with her?"

"Paranoid schizophrenia," she explained softly. "It wasn't her fault, though. For reasons I have yet to figure, her doctor took her off her meds - and then waited to make sure she had a psychotic break before supplying her with syringes filled with deadly amounts of xylazine. Stone is tracking him down for questioning and an arrest, but I haven't heard from him yet."

Woody nodded, his eyes starting to close in exhaustion. But then he smiled slyly and peered up at her as something clicked in his still-foggy mind. "Are you telling me that _you_, the notorious Jordan Cavanaugh, resisted the temptation of a manhunt to stay at my bedside?"

"Yeah, I guess I am. What's it to ya?" She returned his smirk and leaned her elbows on the mattress beside him. "I'm glad you're okay," she added in a more subdued tone. "For a while there I thought I was going to lose you. It was...scary."

"I didn't mean to scare you," he said, turning his head toward her and meeting her gaze with more focus than he'd had just a few minutes ago.

"I know." She reached out and pressed a cool hand to his cheek. "All is forgiven. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go see what I can do about bustin' you outta here."

xXx

It took until seven o'clock that morning, but Woody was finally released into Jordan's care.

She helped him out of the hospital shuttle van and up the stairs to the bedroom they had been sharing. "You should be feeling back to normal by this evening," she told him softly, not even bothering to turn on the overhead light as she lowered him into bed. Sunlight was streaming into the room, and she walked over to pull the curtains closed. "You just stay here. I'll make us both some breakfast."

Woody nodded and pressed his head back into the pillows. She had made it halfway across the room, but stopped and quickly walked back to the bed. "I'll be right back," she whispered, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to his forehead.

As she was about to pull away, he reached out and grabbed her hand. "I love you, Jordan," he said, staring up into her startled brown eyes without backing down. "Never forget that."

"I won't." The words came out so softly that she almost wondered if she had even spoken them aloud. But he gave her a heartwarming smile that made his dimples appear and let go of her hand. She blinked, trying to think of something else to say, before giving up and leaving the room. A fresh wave of tears pooled in her eyes as she made her way back down the stairs to the kitchen. _He's too good for me, _she thought, shaking her head.

She hadn't even had time to put bread into the toaster when her cell phone rang. Hastily dropping the loaf to the counter, she fished around in her pocket and answered without checking the caller ID.

"Cavanaugh."

"Doctor Cavanaugh, this is Doctor Skinner. I've just finished looking over your tests from last week. Do you have a few minutes to talk?"

Jordan's breath caught in her throat and the room began to swim around her as an intense fear seared through her soul. This was it. She'd been so worried about Woody that she had nearly forgotten… She had to grasp the edge of the counter firmly to keep herself steady before she found the will to say something. "Yeah, sure. How…um, how does everything look?"

"Well," Skinner began, and she could hear papers being shuffled around on the other end of the line. Probably pulling up the scans. "There was some swelling around the frontal and occipital lobes, but both were minimal. I'd like you to come back for a comparative test as soon as you can, but these look like injuries sustained during the plane crash and should heal on their own. Some of the symptoms you described before could be explained by that swelling."

All she could do was nod, even knowing he couldn't see the motion. It took all her strength not to drop the phone as she began to shake uncontrollably. Her thoughts went to Woody, probably already sleeping, right upstairs. She wanted to call out for him, to feel him standing beside her as a pillar of strength when she had none left of her own. But she didn't call for him. Instead, she forced herself to ask through gritted teeth, "And the meningioma?"

"Again, I'd like you to come back for a few more tests to be sure, but it does not look like anything has changed. No new growth is showing up."

"No…no growth? Are you sure?" She leaned forward over the counter, heart fluttering at what could be very good news.

"From what I'm looking at right now, yes. Another scan should confirm that."

Jordan was silent for so long that Skinner had to ask if she had heard him. "Yeah – yes. I heard. Thank you." She swallowed back a sob and promised to make another appointment as soon as she returned to Boston.

The doctor hung up, and this time she let the phone fall from her grip and clatter to the floor. _Swelling. It's just swelling. I'm not dying._

The tears she had been holding back for so long erupted to the surface and she was powerless to prevent them as they spilled from her eyes and down her cheeks. Desperately relived sobs tore through her until she had to use both hands to brace herself against the granite countertop to keep from falling, heaving as her lungs tried to breathe through it all. She knew she was being loud – knew that Woody could probably hear her – but she wasn't able to make it stop.

"Jordan?"

_Yep,_ she thought, almost starting to laugh hysterically, _he heard me_. The swirling emotions just made her cry harder, though, and she heard him stumbling around upstairs. Trying to get to her.

"Jo, are you okay?" He was worried now, and somewhere at the top of the stairs. "Please answer me, Jordan!"

"Fine!" she finally forced herself to call out, voice wavering through her hitching throat. "I-I'm fine!" But then she spun around, coming back to the moment and remembering that he'd just been released from the hospital. "Don't come down those stairs, Woodrow Hoyt! I am not carrying you back up to bed!"

There was some grumbling, but then he fell quiet – likely realizing he was still dizzy. "Fine," he muttered just loudly enough for her to hear down the hallway. "Then you come to me!"

"In a minute."

"Damn it, Jordan, come here _now_!"

As though moving on their own, her feet shuffled across the floor through the kitchen and brought her to the bottom of the stairs. She looked up, and saw Woody's frightened face staring down at her. He reached out a hand, silently begging her to come closer since he was unable to get to her himself. She gave him a shaky smile and climbed the stairs. The moment she reached the top, Woody pulled her into his arms without stopping to ask what was wrong.

Jordan fell against him without restraint, letting him hold her as tears once again blurred her vision. "I just talked to my doctor," she breathed, turning her face into his chest.

He stiffened at that, and she could hear his heart start to pound. He was just as frightened as she had been. "What did he say?"

"There – there was some swelling," she explained softly, sucking in snagging gulps of air. "But it was from the _crash_. I…" A sob bubbled through her lungs, almost turning into another hysterical burst of laughter. "I'm fine, Woody. There was no change in the…the meningioma. It was all – all from that damned plan crash."

"But…swelling? What does that mean?"

She pulled back enough to meet his worried gaze. "It will go away on its own."

His hands flew up to her face, cupping her cheeks as he put his forehead against hers, too overcome for words and managing to put so much emotion behind the gesture. They both smiled, and this time Jordan did laugh – a light, throaty sound to ease both their fears. "I'm not dying, Woody. I'm not dying."

His fingers trailed over her skin and into her soft hair, nearly crying now himself. Still at a loss for something to say, he tilted her head upward and pressed his lips to hers. There was an urgency behind the kiss, and she responded immediately by wrapping her arms around him and opening her mouth to his tongue. One of his hands fell to her hip, pulling her tightly to him. She was just starting to tug at the hem of his shirt, needing to feel his warm skin, when he swayed backward into the nearby wall.

The kiss was reluctantly broken, and Woody sighed in frustration. Jordan just chuckled, wiping away the last of her tears with the back of her hand. "Go get back into bed," she admonished lightly, helping him back to his feet and shooing him down the hall. "I really will bring up breakfast this time."

"I don't want any food, Jordan," he told her breathlessly. "I just want _you_."

She regarded him silently for a moment, torn between giving in to her rising desire – as he was making clear he wanted to do – or looking after his health. Health won out. "We're both exhausted," she murmured, walking toward him and squeezing his hand. "Let's just sleep for a while."

Woody's face began to fall at her apparent dismissal, but she stepped close and added softly, "But who ever said we have to sleep with all of our clothes on?"


	10. Chapter 10

**As always, thank you to my readers - and especially to Cittykat17 and Tracey for their continued reviews!  
**

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**Chapter 10**

The ringing of Woody's cell phone dragged Jordan out of her sleep, and she reached out to blindly run her hand over the bedside table for it. "'Ello?"

"Doctor Cavanaugh?"

"Oh. It's you." She scowled, glancing at the alarm clock by the bed with an annoyed expression on her face. Six thirty. She and Woody had been asleep all day. "Whadda ya want?"

"Always a _pleasure_, talking to you," Office Stone responded angrily. "Where's Detective Hoyt? I was hoping he would pick up, since this is his number."

"He's sleeping right here next to me. Should I wake him?" she said callously, not caring even a little bit that she had just given him the impression that they'd been doing more than sleeping all day. The other end of the line was awkwardly silent at that. "Really, what do you want? Because I'm exhausted, and I get _grumpy_ when I'm exhausted."

"We have Sonders in custody. You wanted to be told, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did," she muttered grudgingly.

"If you can get here in thirty minutes, we'll wait to start the interrogation."

They both hung up without a goodbye, and Jordan immediately rolled over out of Woody's arms to gather her clothes off the floor. "Wake up, Woody! We need to go." He didn't respond, so she reached out and shook his shoulder. "Come on, get up!"

"Wha's going on?" he mumbled, one hand moving over the warm spot on the bed she had just vacated, trying to find her. "Where'd you go?"

"That was Stone," she explained in a rush, sniffing at her shirt and deeming it clean enough to wear again. "They have Holly's doctor in custody, and he's waiting for us to start the interrogation. Get your ass up and let's go!"

Woody just smiled as she threw his pants at his face.

xXx

Henry Sonders was a mouse of a man. Pinched face, bristly grey hair, and little brown eyes – and he was jumpy as could be. He flinched when Woody and Stone entered the interview room after the detective had been given a full update on what the earlier search had procured. Jordan watched from behind the two-way mirror, a faint grin on her lips. Her sharp Farm Boy would have this guy cracked in fifteen minutes. Tops.

"So," he began, pulling out the chair closest to Sonders and sitting down heavily. Jordan was the only one who could tell he wasn't fully recovered yet, and the psychiatrist looked up at him in panic. "How long have you been treating Holly Whitaker?"

"W-who?"

"Holly Whitaker. You know, the woman you told to kill her husband?"

Sonders shook his head, eyes going wide. "I-I don't…don't know what you're talking about!"

"We have your computer, Doctor," Stone said coldly, "and we've found some very incriminating emails between you and one Dudley Evans. Care to tell us who he is?"

"I don't have any idea what you're talking about!" Sonders insisted again as his gaze darted back and forth between the two men. "You must have the wrong person! Please, I-I don't know anything."

"So this -" Woody smacked the letter Jordan had discovered in Holly's box down on the table, "this isn't from your clinic, typed on your expensive paper, with your signature at the bottom?" The color drained from the man's face. "Mrs. Whitaker's files were hidden in a drawer in your personal office. Still want to claim you don't have any idea what we're talking about?"

The frightened man quickly shook his head. "Look, I didn't know, okay? I didn't know what they were planning until it was too late to back out!"

_Five minutes,_ Jordan smiled. A tied record for him. Not bad.

"Who?" Woody's voice was firm, and Sonders stared at him as it became clear just how much trouble he was in.

"E-evans," the doctor stammered as the story began to spill out. "I got a call from him almost a y-year ago. He and another man asked for my help. Said they were l-lawyers working on a case and needed access to someone."

"So you just agreed to take an innocent woman off her medication, fully knowing how dangerous that was?"

"No! No, I never saw her myself, I swear! All I did was arrange to have her transferred to my practice."

_Never saw her himself?_ Jordan pursed her lips and tapped sharply on the glass. _That rat bastard. _Giving Sonders a harsh glare the glued him to his chair, Woody pulled Stone out of the room. Jordan met them in the hallway. "I wanna talk to him," she requested the second the door closed.

"Absolutely not," Stone immediately responded, appalled that she would even ask. "Nothing he says to you would ever stick in court. Stay out of this."

Reacting to his anger with just as much of her own, she poked him in the chest the way she had done the day before. "We're both doctors," she pointed out, quickly growing agitated. "He might trust me more than _you_."

Woody stepped between them and pushed the two apart, sensing a brewing argument and not wanting things to erupt. He let his hand linger on Jordan's shoulder as he felt her take a calming breath. "Just let her in," he said softly. "She knows what she's doing – and she's right; he might open up to her."

"Is this the way you work in Boston?" the officer asked incredulously. "It's a wonder you even get any convictions, letting an M.E. lead your investigations."

Both of them bristled at that, and Jordan clenched her jaw to bite back a furious retort. Rising to the bait would only make things worse. "Are you gonna let me in or not?"

"No," he spat. "I'm not."

She opened her mouth to yell something back, unable to keep the lid on her temper any longer, but Woody leaned down and murmured into her ear before she could. "Let it go, Jo."

"Fine," she whispered dejectedly, then lowered her voice another notch so that only he would hear what she had to say. "Sonders said he didn't treat her. I'm willing to bet one of these two lawyers saw her themselves, pretending to work at the clinic. Get the doc to flip on them, and you'll nail all three."

"You got it."

Stone eyed the intimate conversation with distaste, muttering something under his breath and turning away as Woody pressed a quick kiss to the side of her forehead. She watched in annoyance as the two men went back into the room without her, then went back into the viewing room to witness Woody tear the guy apart. Maybe they'd be done with this case for good by midnight.

xXx

It worked, to an extent. With Jordan's tip, all it took was ten more minutes of prying before Sonders broke.

Dudley Evans, a lawyer from the now defunct Dooney & Cliff, had initially approached the doctor with the request that Holly Whitaker be transferred into his care. He claimed at the time that he was her lawyer and acting on her own wishes, but he later went back to Sonders with a check for a quarter million dollars and the demand that he do what Evans said, no questions asked. That included taking Holly off her medication and leaving the two of them – Holly and Evans – alone for the duration of her weekly "sessions". He had been the one that ultimately drove Holly to murder her husband for him, though Sonders had indeed provided the xylazine at the prompt of another ten grand. The motivation was still unknown, as was the name of his accomplice.

Sonders claimed that he had no idea what was going on, but Jordan's blood burned with resentment at his admission and, as Woody bought them both coffee from the diner by the precinct, she held nothing back.

"He's a doctor!" she all but yelled as he guided her toward a booth against the far wall. "Even I took that 'do no harm' oath, and I_ cut up corpses_ for a living!" That earned her a few nervous looks from fellow patrons, but she skillfully avoided their glances without a thought. Woody, on the other hand, blushed at her raised voice and the attention it was garnering as she continued her rant. "He betrayed her trust, Woody! She may never be able to recover from this."

She suddenly sobered and stared down into her black coffee, breath coming out in a drawn-out sigh. "What a twisted way to murder someone, huh? They almost got away with it."

"But they didn't," Woody reminded her gently, stopping the anxious movement of her fingers over the lip of her mug with his hand. "Like you said before – Holly will get the help she needs now. You saw to that yourself."

"I know, I know. I just…" She wet her lips and lowered her eyes, but not before he caught a glimmer of something in their brown depths, something that said there was more behind her words than she was telling him. "I just want to go home."

With that one sentence, he felt his world start to crumble. _Go home_. Away from him? Away from what relationship they had started? That's what she was trying to say, wasn't it? His brain ran through the possible meanings, only coming to the worst conclusions. Since arriving at the house in Rhode Island, he had been worried that she'd been pulling away from him. Rebuilding all of those walls that she had taken down during the last few weeks. What if she'd simply had the taste she wanted and was ready to go back to the way things had been before?

Just as he began to feel sick to his stomach, Jordan turned her hand over so that she could interlace their fingers. "Woody."

She raised her gaze again, and he knew that she could read his emotions as though reading his mind. He swallowed and broke the stare, bracing himself for her let-down. But it didn't come. Confused, he chanced another glance at her, only to see her grinning at him.

"I didn't mean what you obviously think I meant," she said, her words light enough to begin easing his fears. "What's that saying? 'Home is where the heart is'?" She pulled her hand away, and his heart almost stopped when she stood up. But then she walked around the table and slid onto the bench seat next to him. "I just meant that I want to go back to Boston. _With_ you, not _away_ from you. I'm not sure I like it here very much."

Woody couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped his lips as she leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder. "I think," he muttered, "that you just don't enjoy not having any kind of authority over this case."

"Mmm, maybe a bit of that, too."

"I'm sorry, Jo," he suddenly said, turning his head to look at her. She was so close that their noses almost brushed together, but neither of them flinched away. "For doubting you just now."

Jordan shrugged and gave him a closed-lipped smile. "With my track record, I can't really blame you. But I promise, Woody – I'm not going anywhere. Not this time. Not unless you want me to," she added softly.

"No," he said immediately, wrapping his arms around her as though she were suddenly going to vanish into thin air. "No way. Saying that to you before, two years ago…I think that may have been the biggest mistake of my life. I regretted it every day, and then Pollack…." He shook his head and Jordan pressed her face against his neck, hiding and not wanting to think about it. "No. I _do not_ want you to go anywhere."

He could feel her faint smile against his skin, but she felt stiff in his embrace. Something was still bothering her. "Jordan? What's the matter?"

"I…" But her voice broke off, and she had to take a deep breath before she could continue. "I dodged a bullet this time, with the swelling. But before I found out…when I thought that _thing_ was growing again…" She started to shake, and Woody's arms tightened around her. The hustle and bustle of the diner went ignored as small tears began to fall down her cheeks and wet his neck.

"Jo-"

"Woody, I-I don't know if I could put you through that – having to watch me die from something so awful. Not after what you went though with your mom. It would be selfish of me to expect it of you. So I'm giving you an out. Maybe you can find some other woman to grow old with."

"God, Jordan." No other words would form in his mouth, and so he just reached up and cradled the back of her head with his hand, holding her gently as she silently cried against him. Her hair was so soft under his palm; he couldn't even begin to imagine a life without her now. "I don't want you to go," he whispered, repeating it over and over until she finally began to believe him. Tears threatened to form in his eyes, and he blinked them furiously away, not wanting her to see.

He didn't try to tell her that everything would be okay, or that _they_ would grow old together. While she didn't have cancer like his mother had, this kind of thing… He knew it was unpredictable. All she could promise him was the _right now _– but that would always be enough. "You're all I want, Jordan. No other woman. _You_. We'll make it through this together one way or another. In sickness and in health, right?"

She sniffed and pulled back enough to snatch a napkin off the table to wipe her nose with. "Right," was all she said, not commenting on his allusion to marriage. She hated feeling this weak – this vulnerable – but she gave in this time and allowed the strength of his convictions to carry her through. Besides, it was such a huge relief, to hear him say that he didn't care about her illness. She had needed to hear those words more than she had realized. It had been eating at her unconscious mind for weeks, and she was glad to have it out in the open now.

Trying to gather herself a bit, Jordan leaned over and grabbed her mug. "My coffee's cold," she whined with a feigned frown.

"Hey, Jo?" Woody asked softly. She turned to look at him, patiently waiting for him to continue. "Don't get reckless now, okay? Just because you think the tumor might kill you…don't go chasing down murderers with guns, or any of that other crazy stuff you do. A gunshot could still… Just don't deliberately put yourself in harm's way. Please."

"Jeez, Woody," she muttered. But there was a familiar spark in her eye again. The moment had passed; she was almost back to normal. "You don't want me to have any fun, do you?"

He laughed and pressed his forehead to her temple. "Stone probably won't be able to track down this rogue lawyer and his accomplice tonight. Wanna head back to the house?"

Her slight nod was all the affirmation he needed.

xXx

"How are you feeling?" Jordan asked as soon as they let themselves into their borrowed town home. "Tired? I have some zofran in my bag if you're still feeling nauseated." She reached out to touch his forehead, checking his temperature.

Woody had no idea what zofran even was, but he shook his head anyway and took her hand. "I'm fine, doctor. Really. I'm feeling much better." He pulled her closer until her chest was pressed to his. "_Much_ better," he repeated with emphasis. She stared up at him, knowing exactly what he was hinting at, and her amber eyes flashed with a need that went straight to his core.

Their conversation from the diner still fresh in his mind, he leaned his head down and kissed her fiercely on the mouth. She only hesitated for a second before responding fully, her hands already slipping under his shirt and up his back. A soft moan escaped her throat as Woody's lips traveled over her neck and across her shoulder, his hand pushing her blouse and bra strap away as he went. And then he pulled her shirt over her head, and she did the same with his, and they moved backward together through the foyer toward the stairs, leaving a trail of clothes in their wake.

"I love you, Woody," Jordan whispered hoarsely, cupping his face in both of her hands and kissing him with an incredible desperation as they stumbled down the hallway and into the bedroom. _He almost died yesterday_. "I love you, I love you."


	11. Chapter 11

**Of course, thank you to Cittykat17 and Tracey for your lovely review, and I hope all of you who are continuing to read are enjoying as well. It looks like there will be two more chapters to go before this one's finished. We're nearly done!**

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**Chapter 11**

Many hours later as they were snuggled under the covers of their bed, Jordan gazed out the windows at the lightening sky. Neither of them had done more than doze yet. She was currently resting against Woody's chest, their legs still tangled together and his hand playing with her hair. A soft, satisfied sigh escaped her lips and she closed her eyes, listening to the beating of his heart under her ear. It was still going at a quick pace and she smiled, knowing that that was because of her and what they had just spent the last few hours doing.

"Hey, Jo?" Woody asked quietly, his voice cutting smoothly through the pre-dawn darkness and his hand never stopping its movement through her hair.

"Mmm?"

"What's going to happen when we go back to Boston? With us?"

Jordan propped herself up on an elbow so that she could look down at his face, somewhat taken aback by the distanced concern in his question. His hand fell away from her hair and moved down her bare back, coming to a stop just above the base of her spine. "What do you mean?"

"I dunno," he muttered, trying to find the right words for what he was wanting to say without it coming out wrong. "I guess it's just that every time something big happens with us, it's never while we're at home. You know, the California desert, then in LA. What we did at the inn last year. And then, when we go back home...everything returns to where it was before - sometimes even _worse _than it was. I just..." His words trailed off again, and he took his hand from her back and touched her face. "I've gotten so used to being with you while we've been here. I don't know if I could let go now."

Jordan grinned at him, covering his hand on her cheek with her own to hold it still. "Didn't we just have this discussion a few hours ago? I have no intentions of going anywhere. Especially not _now_."

"Yeah, that was kind of incredible, huh?"

"I'd say mind blowing is a more accurate term," she purred, taking her weight off her elbow and lying down against him again. But then she quieted and took a deep breath as she actually thought about what he'd said. He was right, that was for sure; going home always seemed to force them to take so many steps backward it was hard to even see where they had been trying to go.

"Woody, I don't know if it matters, but… Well, I've heard some of the colorful rumors people like to spread about my personal life and I just want you to know that you're the only man I've…_been_ with since we came back from Littleton Village. I never even tried to look for someone else when you -" _When you were with Lu._ The words caught in her throat, and she cringed. That was not exactly what she had wanted to say. "It was always you."

Her admission took him off guard, and his face flushed. True, he had heard those rumors. Some flew that she and Ivers had had an affair, as had some about her and other random men in the last year. He had taken them all with a grain of salt, but hearing her mention it so casually made him burn with shame about Lu – about the way he had treated Jordan during that whole ordeal. They had both made so many mistakes. "I'm sorry, Jordan, I never -"

"I'm not looking for an apology," she interrupted, reaching up to press a finger to his lips. "I just…wanted you to know that I'm ready to try this if you are. When we get home, I mean. And really, man, I told you all of this last night."

"Yeah," Woody agreed softly. "Would you maybe consider, um…no, never mind. That'd be a bad idea."

He shook his head as Jordan watched him, now too curious to let it go without prodding. He'd backed himself into a corner and she grinned like a cat who had found a mouse. "What were you going to ask me?"

"It's nothing, Jo. Really."

"Nuh-uh, it's something. Why Woodrow, you're blushing!" She used her arms to prop herself up this time, one of either side of his chest, effectively pinning him to the mattress with her upper body. Slyly, she lowered her face and kissed his neck, dragging her lips over his skin and up toward his ear. "Ask me," she breathed.

"You'll say no." It was a weak protest, and they both saw that he was fighting a losing battle.

"Will I?"

Her teeth grazing the cusp of his ear as she finally reached it was his undoing. "Live with me, Jordan." The words spilled out more as a moan than a question as she continued to torture him. "I don't want to be without you for another day. Please…don't say no."

She stopped her seducing to stare down at his face, and he immediately regretted letting the thought take form. But she didn't look angry, or even upset. Rather, her eyes were amused and they glinted in the darkness as she smirked at him. "You really think I'm going to say no?"

Before he could answer, she pressed her lips to his in a kiss that seared through his soul. His arms came up to wrap around her, and she melted against him, moving her legs to straddle his hips so that she was completely on top of him. The heat of her body sent wave after wave of desire through him. One of his hands flew up to tangle in her hair, pulling her even closer.

Jordan pulled away just long enough to smile and whisper, "Okay. I'll do it."

With that, he rolled them both over and showered her face with kisses. When his hands began to find their way down toward her thighs, though, the doctor in her paused and checked the pulse in his neck. She didn't have to count the beats to know that it was a bit too fast, too soon. "Woody, stop. Just for a second."

"What?" he asked. The sun was starting to peek above the horizon, and he could just make out her worried expression. "What's the matter?"

"You almost died recently, remember?" She gently levered herself out from under him and turned to her side, cupping his cheek in her hand and making him lie back down, too. "Your heart shouldn't be under so much strain so soon after being poisoned. I should have stopped you after the first time. I'm sorry." She pulled him close for a soft kiss and let him envelop her in his warm embrace, chest to chest with her head tucked under his chin. "Let's give it a few hours, okay?"

Surprisingly, he didn't protest her request to take a break. Truth be told, he was still a little dizzy, and he knew she was right. So he buried his face in her hair, breathing in the scent of her and never wanting to let go. "You'll really live with me?"

"You sound so shocked," she mumbled playfully, scooting just a little bit closer. "I'm kind of attached to my place, though. Think you'd be able to live there for now? It would probably be less expensive, too." The unspoken words were clear: she would be more comfortable there.

"I would live in a cardboard box, so long as I was with you."

"How romantic."

"Really, though," Woody continued seriously, his voice low. "The lease on my apartment is up next month; I'll just not renew it. Are you sure you're okay with this? _Really_ sure? I mean, it's a pretty big step."

"I'm sure." She chuckled and found one of his hands, squeezing it with her own. "Like you said earlier – I've gotten used to being with you. I don't really like the idea of having to be apart again; we've been through too much to let it go to waste now. I think you're on to something here, Farm Boy." She paused, taking a moment to think things through as the weight of their decision fell over her shoulders. "Could we start kind of slow, though? Maybe a few nights a week while you still have the lease? I seem to have a bad habit of self-destruction when things start getting serious, just in case you hadn't noticed."

Woody laughed softly at her attempted joke and rubbed his hand over her arm. "Of course. Whatever makes you happy."

Jordan had no idea how to respond to that, so she just closed her eyes and smiled.

xXx

Later that day, after changing the sheets and making sure Woody was comfortable in bed, Jordan drove herself over to the hospital to see Holly. She'd spoken with the woman's state-appointed psychiatrist the hour before, and was told that if she wanted to talk to her now was the time to do it. Holly had been on stabilizing medications since she had been admitted, finally lucid and clear-headed enough to understand what had happened.

Woody had wanted to go with her, but Jordan said no, telling him he needed to rest and not romp around the hospital with her. He had grudgingly agreed to stay behind. She felt a little weird, visiting Holly after seeing her at her worst, and she was honestly a bit relieved to be going alone. Finding a parking spot in the visitor's lot and getting a ticket, she made her way inside and took the elevator to the mental health ward – her least favorite floor of any hospital.

Holly was restrained in her bed, staring longingly out the window. The blinds had been raised, and bright afternoon sunlight was streaming in. When Jordan entered the room and the door had been locked behind her, Holly turned sad eyes to find her standing a few feet away.

"How are you feeling?" Jordan asked awkwardly.

Holly laughed humorlessly and raised her arms as far as they would go in their soft restraints. Her blond hair was matted and tangled around her head, and she didn't look like she'd had more than a sponge bath since she was admitted. "I've killed my husband – the man I loved more than anyone in the world – and almost took my best friend and _your_ husband, too. How do you think I feel?"

"It wasn't your fault, Mrs. Whitaker," Jordan said softly, hurting for the woman lying on the bed in front of her. "You were taken advantage of."

"Call me Holly," she muttered. "I don't deserve the respect of titles. I should probably even take back my maiden name, after what I did to Paul." Feeling how torn apart she was, the medical examiner walked over to the side of the bed and undid one of the restraints. Holly watched her in surprise. "What are you doing?"

"You're not an animal, Holly. And as long as I'm in here, I won't let you be treated like one."

Tears formed in her eyes, and she used her freed hand to wipe them away, then hesitantly touch her hair and face. "Thank you."

Jordan smiled kindly at her before reaching into her purse and pulling out three photographs. One was Henry Sonders, taken before he was booked. The other was one Stone had pulled up of Dudley Evans, the dirty lawyer. The third was a random man arrested a few years ago for petty theft. "Are any of these men your doctor, Holly?" she asked gently, handing her the photographs.

Holly looked at each one carefully. "This man," she said quickly, holding up the one of Evans – the lawyer who was not a doctor at all. "I never liked him much. I recall thinking at first that he wasn't very good at his job."

Jordan took the photos back and pulled a chair toward the bed to sit down. "Why were you transferred to his care? Do you remember?"

"I don't…I don't know. My psychiatrist just gave me a referral one day; he didn't say why. What's going to happen to me?" The question was quiet and frightened, and the other woman took her hand and squeezed it in a show of support.

"I'm not sure," Jordan told her honestly. "But I don't think any murder charges will be drawn. Not against you, anyway. You may have to spend time in a state psychiatric hospital, though, at least until you can fully recover. You're going to be okay now, Holly. I promise."

Holly just stared at her, face pinched with painful emotions. "No, I'm not. I killed my husband. I am _never_ going to be okay."

Jordan broke her gaze, knowing that what she said was true. Nothing would ever be the same for her again. This poor young woman had no one left – not anymore. "Would you like some company for a while?"

"Please."

And so Jordan sat there, holding Holly's hand as she cried for everything she had lost.

xXx

Not long after Jordan left, Woody rolled over in the bed and ran his hand over the spot she had occupied the night before. He knew the sheets there were new and cold now but, if he closed his eyes and imagined, he could still feel the warmth of her body so close to his. The thought alone was enough to thrill him.

He knew better than to ask her to marry him. Not yet. Maybe not for a few years. As much as he knew she loved him, that kind of commitment might still be enough to frighten her off. Try as he might to forget it, he could still vividly remember the sheer panic on her face when she learned – from him, incidentally – that Pollack had wanted to propose. Marriage was not something Jordan would take to easily, regardless of who would be standing at the altar with her.

So they would live together during the interim. Not a bad trade-out, really. Waking up beside her every morning, kissing her lips before work, having dinner together on the nights neither had to pull a double shift, talking with her in bed at night, holding her as they fell asleep. _Loving her every chance he got_. It was finally happening. Just like he had hoped it one day would since he first met her all those years ago.

Woody sat up in bed to reach for a glass of water on the bedside table. His stomach immediately flipped, and he cringed as a surge of nausea overtook him. Jordan had warned that he may have to deal with those side effects – dizziness, nausea, and headaches – for a few more days as his body fully purged the toxin from his blood. She'd left him instructions on how to take care of his himself, though, should he be sick while she was gone, and he reached for the paper she had written everything on.

"Headaches, take two ibuprofen," it read in her tidy doctor's script. "Nausea, take one zofran." He set the paper down and closed his eyes, trying to get his stomach settled enough to stand. She'd told him that both pill bottles were in her makeup bag on the bathroom counter, and she had even set another clean glass by the sink, just in case.

He was still kicking himself for getting into that whole situation with Holly. If he had stopped to think about it, if he had just called Jordan before he ran off… So many "if"s that could have prevented the whole thing. He was very aware that he would have died if Jordan hadn't been so close on his heels. He'd have to thank her for putting the pieces together so quickly – for saving his life yet again.

Forcing himself to stand, he made his way to the bathroom and braced his hands against the countertop while the room stopped spinning. Then he reached for her pink toiletry bag and unzipped it. Rather than being filled with makeup, as he was expecting, the bag was filled with pill bottles. Sure, there was a tube of mascara and some blush, but he counted at least six medications mixed in. Suddenly feeling like he was invading her privacy, he hesitantly pulled them out one by one to find the zofran. But unable to stop his curiosity, he glanced at a few of the others.

They'd all been prescribed by Doctor Skinner. And while he was unable to recognize any of the names, he knew with a sinking stomach that each one was given because of the tumor. The nausea flared again, this time for a completely different reason. He thought back, trying to remember if he had seen her take any of them. He recalled the two in her purse, but those were for her new headaches. These…she probably took these before her shower, or when she came in to brush her teeth. Sometime when the bathroom door was closed.

"God, Jo," he whispered, putting the bottles back with shaking hands.

_I dodged a bullet,_ she had told him the night before in the diner. But it seemed now that she would never be given cover from the firing squad. It was just a matter of time before she was hit square in the chest and taken from him forever.


	12. Chapter 12

**One more chapter to go after this…**

**I can go ahead and tell y'all, though, that I have quite a few one-shots in the editing stage and another multi-chaptered story in the brainstorming stage, so if you like what I write for Crossing Jordan, please either keep an eye on the FanFiction page or add me to your Author Alerts! I will keep writing as long as I have readers, reviewers or no.**

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**Chapter 12**

"Most of these are to treat symptoms," Jordan explained quietly that evening. She and Woody were sitting on the bed a few feet apart, her makeup bag open and spilled between them. The various pill bottles were spread on the comforter. "Like this one, the zofran you took earlier – this is for nausea, which, unfortunately for me, is caused by a few things."

Woody nodded mutely, hanging on her every word. He had not so subtly asked about the medications he had found earlier, unable to quell his growing fear that she was still dying even as she repeatedly reassured him that she really wasn't. She hadn't been angry about his find or his questions in the least, but a sad glint had caught in her eye and hadn't quite left yet.

"This one here is called Maxalt. It's the only thing I've found that helps kill the pain of my migraines. This one is generic naproxen, for body pain or smaller headaches. It's similar to ibuprofen in what it does, but the dosage is higher." She shrugged like it was no big deal and reached for a different bottle. "This one controls seizures, though I haven't had a tonic-clonic seizure since before the surgery. Sorry," she added hastily at his confused expression, "those used to be called 'grand mal'; the terminology keeps changing."

He nodded again and let out the breath he had been unconsciously holding.

"Promethazine hydrochloride." She held up another bottle before dropping it unceremoniously back to the bed. "Another anti-nausea med, only this one can knock me out for forty-eight hours if I take the full dose. Not my favorite, but it works as a last resort."

"Forty-eight hours? Jeez." Woody stared down at the plastic tube filled with tiny white pills, shocked that something so small could have such an impact on her body. There were only two unnamed medicines left, and he pointed to the one closest to his leg. "This one?"

"Antiprogestin," she whispered. "Studies found that it helps prevent cancerous cells from growing. It's really my best hope against this thing, unless I end up undergoing radiation – which would be the next step before another round of surgery if…if it starts growing again." She grew quiet then, touching the nondescript bottle with a light finger. "Antiprogestin also… Well, I won't be able to get pregnant – or at least not carry a baby to term. Preventing cells from growing and all that."

Jordan wouldn't meet his gaze when he tried to catch it, unsure of what she would see there as she dropped this new load on him. The meningioma had already taken so much from her, and now it might dawn on him that it could very well take a good deal from him as well if their relationship went forward the way they both wanted it to. Like his chance to have a family – something she probably couldn't give him now, but she knew he wanted.

Instead of tackling that beast yet, she pointed to the last medication, a blister pack that held just as much punch as the last one. "And that is a special kind of birth control pill with specified hormone levels that my body can no longer produce correctly. I usually inject it, but they gave me a pill this round since I decided to go out of town and was going to miss the monthly date."

"Inject…?"

She tried to chuckle at his obvious discomfort at the mere thought of a needle. "It's easier than adding one more pill to my daily routine. Though it's really only the seizure meds, antiprogestin, and this HBC pill that I have to take daily. Everything else I can take as needed."

"Can I, um…can I ask you some questions?"

"Of course you can." Jordan reached out to him, and he grasped her hand tightly. "I'll answer anything you throw at me. Promise."

Woody swallowed around a lump forming in his throat. He was frightened, and ridiculously so as old memories from his early childhood came filtering back. "W-when my mom was sick, t-the cancer -" But the question stuck, the words unable to form. "It-it…"

"It spread?" she supplied gently when his stuttering made it too difficult for him to speak.

He just nodded again, looking up at her with wet eyes. "She was in so much pain near the end. I…this – will…"

A stray tear leaked down his cheek and Jordan wiped it away, leaving her palm to cup his jaw. "Mine won't spread, Woody. Tumors that originate in the brain _can't_ spread; the blood-brain barrier prevents cancerous cells from getting into the bloodstream. So if the meningioma comes back, it will stay in my brain. It's not even cancer, per se, but it's similar enough."

"Are you scared?"

"Yes. Are you?"

"Yes."

They stared at each other for a few long seconds, neither trusting themselves to speak. But then Woody scooted closer, took Jordan into his arms, and moved them both to lean against the headboard. She wrapped her own arms around him tightly, pressing her face against his chest and letting him run his fingers through her hair, unabashedly seeking the comfort he was so willing to give.

"We're going back to Boston day after tomorrow," she observed softly. "When I make my next neurology appointment…you wanna come with me? I could, uh, use the company."

There was more behind that question than she was putting into words; she needed his strength, even if he was just as afraid as she was. He could see that clearly. "Sure," he agreed. "I'll even drive you."

Jordan gave a small laugh and used her leg to push all of the bottles and cosmetics onto the floor so that she could stretch out beside him. "Sounds like a _great_ date, huh?" Woody didn't respond to that, and she glanced up, worried. He was staring off toward the far wall with glassy eyes, suddenly lost in thought. She placed a hand to his chest, just over his heart, in an attempt to bring him back and talk to her. "You okay?"

"If it does start growing again," he started slowly, bringing his gaze back to hers, "what will happen? To you?"

The breath left her lungs like she'd been punched. She knew what would happen. She was a _doctor_; she had dissected countless brains with this condition, had seen the damage first hand. But seeing it, knowing what was to come, was much different than saying it out loud to the most important person in her life. "I-I'll tell you, Woody. I will. But…only if it comes back. If that happens, I'll tell you everything. Just not right now, while I'm still healthy." A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "Or at least, as healthy as I'll ever be."

"Okay." And just like that, he let it go.

Jordan sighed and pulled herself out of his arms so that she could clean up the mess she had just made by knocking everything off the bed. "It's past time for dinner. Are you hungry?" she asked in an attempt to change the subject.

"A little." He leaned over and helped her gather up the bottles. "How did everything go with Holly?"

She dropped the last item into her pink cosmetics bag and zipped it closed. "As I expected, I guess. She hates herself for what happened, even though it wasn't really her fault. Anything new on your end?"

"Not really. Oh, wait! I almost forgot; Stone called before I fell asleep this afternoon. Remember that guy we brought in for questioning the other day? Jeffery Hammond?" He waited for her nod. "He was Evans's accomplice. The guy skipped town the second he was released, and Stone is tracking him down now. Bet he's kicking himself in the ass for letting him go."

"I'd like to kick him in the ass _myself_."

Woody laughed and pulled her back against his chest before she could get to her feet. "I think I'd pay to see that. He's, what, three times your size?"

"Hey, there's still one place I could kick 'im that would really hurt. And, as much as I'd love to stay in bed with you, my stomach is starting to get violent from the lack of food. So come on, let's go make dinner."

xXx

"Whitaker's phone records were certainly interesting, once I looked back far enough," Nigel explained to them the next morning. "I found many to one phone number with an area code in Providence. The interesting part? It's the direct line for the head homicide detective in the same district where Dooney & Cliff's headquarters was located."

"A homicide detective?" Woody leaned forward to better hear what was being said and Jordan held the phone a bit closer to his ear. "Do you have a name?"

"Yes. A one Natasha Gooding." Nigel fell quiet for a moment before adding, "It looks like the last call to her was placed three days before his death. Oh, and what have we here?"

The line was silent again, and Woody and Jordan glanced at one another. "What, Nige? What'd you find?" Jordan's voice was impatient, and she bit her tongue so that she wouldn't get snappy – exactly what she had scolded Woody for just a few days ago.

"Another call from a different Providence number. The trace on it just finished. I thought it was the same detective on another line, but I ran it just in case. It seems to have come from the very same office building that your Dudley Evans now works in, but the extension is for the lobby, not his floor. This one is dated about seven months ago; it's the only one. Lasted seven minutes."

"Thank you, Nigel," Jordan said, leaving Woody to write down what they had just been told as she put the phone to her ear.

"Just you now, love?"

"Mhmm." She smiled, knowing that he was hungry for the other details of her trip.

"So…" her friend drawled, "you're coming home tomorrow, are you not?"

"Yep, tomorrow night."

"And…?"

"And I'll talk to you when I get back. Hey, any word on Garret?" she asked, deftly changing the subject to what she actually wanted to hear about and leaning forward to rest her arm against the kitchen table.

"Yes, actually," Nigel replied excitedly. "He'd being released from the hospital tomorrow, but with no set date to return to work. Our dear Buggles will be coming back to us next week, though."

Jordan smiled even knowing he couldn't see it. "That's great. I can't wait to see him. And Kate? How is she?"

"Kate has been a real dream, I'll tell you."

"She's in the room with you, isn't she?"

"That she is."

She just laughed and shook her head. "Bye, Nige." With that, she closed her phone and turned to Woody. "Are you going to call Detective Gooding now or this afternoon?"

Woody set down the pencil in his hand and pushed his empty coffee mug across the table to join hers. "It's almost nine. I think I'll just go ahead and do it now." He grinned at her. "Good news about Doctor M.?"

"He's being released from the hospital tomorrow. Still not sure when he'll be back at work, though." Giving him a wily grin that never failed to make his breath catch, she scooted her chair closer to his and touched his neck to check his pulse. "Your heart feels stronger," she murmured, removing her fingers and replacing them with her lips. "Want to take advantage of it? I do enjoy some morning sex. After your phone call, of course."

"Of course," he mumbled weakly, turning to butter under her kisses but still finding the mental capability to store away the comment about her…enjoyments. "What phone call was that, again?"

Her laugh was throaty and did nothing to smother the fire that had blossomed between them. But she pulled away dutifully and slapped her own cell into his hand. "Make the call. We still have all day."

xXx

"Dead? What do you mean, _dead_?" Natasha Gooding asked incredulously over the phone not much later. "Damn it all to hell. Whitaker was the cornerstone of my case. Why am I just now being notified?"

"I'm sorry," Woody explained as best he could, understanding very well how angry she was. "We only got the phone records last night."

"He's in Boston, you say? Guess I should book a flight."

"Oh, no need. We - er, my...partner and I are actually in Warwick. We were _supposed _to have been on vacation and somehow got pulled into this whole fiasco." He sighed and leaned back in the kitchen chair. Jordan watched him from the counter as she flipped through a magazine that his friend had left behind, an amused expression on her face. _His partner._ _Yep_. "For some reason, his wife didn't want the local police to investigate on their own."

Gooding must have heard the annoyance in his voice, and she chuckled. "Yeah, Whitaker mentioned a while back that he and, what's his name? Something Stone? That they went to high school together. Never really got along. That's why he reached out to me rather than giving his information to a local detective - and we certainly appreciated that. We've been trying to nail a group to the wall for years now; Paul's input was invaluable."

Woody looked up at that, catching Jordan's eye. She could only hear his end of the conversation, but she immediately perked up when she realized something important had just passed between the two cops. "This group you're after...does it involve members from a law firm called Dooney & Cliff, by any chance?"

The line was silent for a long moment before the other detective spoke. "I'm driving down there right now. Where are you staying?" He gave her the address without argument. "Right next door, huh? My partner and I can be there in a few hours. I think it's time I took this case off your hands, Hoyt."

"Well?" Jordan asked with interest as soon as he hung up, leaning forward against the island. "What did she say?"

He met her gaze again, rather surprised at what had just transpired. "She's driving down here with her partner today. I can only guess that we've hit something pretty important."

That was not what she had been expecting, and she crossed her arms. "When will they be here?"

"Probably sometime this evening," he said quietly, setting his phone down on the table so that he could rub his hands over his face. It was only nine o'clock in the morning and he already wanted to get back in bed. "And so it just keeps going. Jeez, I'm starting to agree with you - I'd really like to go home right about now. My own cases, my own desk, my own precinct…"

Jordan walked around the island and plopped herself down in the chair next to his. "Well, we have to be back at work tomorrow, anyway. The whole week has already passed."

"Not much of a vacation, huh?" He gave her a small, closed-lipped grin.

"Not really, no." Seeing how frustrated he was getting, she stood again and went to stand behind him so that she could massage the tension from his shoulders. "I'm sorry this didn't turn out the way you wanted, Woody. I know you were just looking to relax this week. And, of course, have me all to yourself." He didn't need to see her wide smile to hear it in her voice. Before he could respond, she dipped her head and pressed her lips to the soft spot behind his ear, keeping good on her promise to continue what they had started earlier. "But you can't say it was _all_ bad…"

"No," he quickly agreed. "No, I can't."

xXx

"Detective Hoyt, it's good to finally meet you." Natasha, a warm woman in her early fifties with graying black hair and sharp black eyes, shook his hand firmly and gestured to the man standing on the stoop beside her. "This is my partner on the case, Michael Atkins. Really, thank you for meeting with us on such short notice. We don't mean to step on any toes."

"Don't worry about it," Woody said sincerely, backing away from the front door so that they could both come into the foyer. "Jordan and I didn't want anything to do with this in the first place, to be honest. We're more than happy to pass everything over to you now. Come on, everything is laid out in the kitchen. We can go over it all there."

"Mmm, and do I smell food?" She smiled widely as she followed him through the hallway.

"Yeah. Jordan just threw together some kind of casserole with the food we had left over from the week. I know it's still early, but we figured you two wouldn't have eaten dinner yet. If you're not hungry -"

"Oh, no," Michael interrupted with a laugh. "You figured correctly."

Natasha nodded in vigorous agreement. "We're _starving_. And now I'm dying to meet this man who can, what did you say? Throw together a casserole with leftovers?"

"Oh, um," Woody paused, realizing as he did so that he had forgotten to give her a proper introduction on the phone. "Jordan's not -"

"I'm not what?" she asked brightly as the three of them came into the kitchen, hoisting the casserole out of the oven and setting it carefully on the island next to a stack of plates and silverware. "We can serve ourselves here," she added, not waiting for Woody to answer her question. "The table is kind of full." And it was, covered almost completely with papers.

Natasha looked at her with an amused surprise, a crafty grin on her lips. "_You're _Hoyt's partner? The one he is here on vacation with?"

"Partner? As much as I like the ring that has to it, no, not really." Jordan shrugged, easily returning the other woman's smile with a dazzling one of her own. "I'm actually a doctor - well, a medical examiner in Boston. We...work together. A lot."

"So you're his girlfriend," she stated innocently, not having a clue what those little words actually meant to either of them.

Jordan glanced up and met Woody's panicked eyes, biting back a laugh as she thought of what her next words might do to him. "Yeah, I guess I am. Damn cops, never minding your own business," she mumbled good-naturedly, pulling out a big metal spoon and practically spearing it into the casserole to begin doling the food out. Woody's face was flaming then, and she didn't look at him again. "Okay, let's dig in and start talking about this case. I am _so _ready to be done with it."

Michael came over and gratefully filled up his plate. "Would you tell us about what happened here first? Then Gooding and I can fill in any of your blanks, plus whatever you want to know about our side of this whole mess."

Woody and Jordan tag-teamed through the events they had uncovered, sharing crime scene photos and whatever evidence they still had in their possession. As twisted as it was, the murder was straightforward enough. Holly was a used third party - the real person who should be held responsible for the entire thing was Dudley Evans, then his accomplice, and then Dr. Sonders. But cornering those two lawyers to press charges...that would be the hard part. It would be far too easy for them to shift blame to Holly; they'd been too careful in covering their tracks. The only way the connection had been brought back around at all was because Jordan had found that box.

The medical examiner picked listlessly at her food with her fork, suddenly not hungry anymore as she remembered her conversation with Holly the day before. "You won't let any charges be brought against her, will you? Against Paul's wife?"

Natasha regarded her for a moment, taking in all of the information that had just been given. "If she really was used against her will the way you say she was, not only will I not let charges be brought against her, I'll petition our D.A. to charge those bastards with as much as we can get away with to bring her justice. What they did to her is absolutely appalling." She scowled, dropping a black and white photo from the autopsy back onto the table. "I can't believe they almost slipped right under our radar with this."

"What were they trying to hide?" Woody finally asked, watching as Jordan chased a carrot around on her plate with a prong of the fork.

Michael answered that while his partner looked through the file one more time. "A few years before Dooney & Cliff went under, a high profile case came through the firm. I won't go into details, but Evans and his team were hired as the defense for a doctor's malpractice suit - his cancer patient died as a direct result of his negligence. All of the evidence was there, and definitely stacked against him. But suddenly, the day the case went to trial, all three of the State's star witnesses disappeared. We always suspected Evans of foul play, but we were never able to find proof."

"Until Whitaker came forward two years ago," Natasha supplied. "He had been on that defense team, and was fired not long after the case was declared a mistrial. According to Paul, Evans had actually hired professionals outside the firm to, how did he say it? Remove the witnesses from the picture? Something like that." She shrugged. "Long story short, he had them killed. In the same round-about, hard to track kind of way he killed Whitaker."

"That son of a bitch," Jordan spat angrily, giving up on any semblance on continuing to eat.

Woody looked over at her in concern, but she was glowering at the wall and not meeting anyone's eyes. Probably trying to keep her temper in check in front of these strangers. He nudged her foot under the table, eliciting a very small grin at his attempted comfort. "But you can nail him now, right?" he asked for them both.

"We sure can." Natasha flipped a photo from the crime scene over so that she didn't have to look at it anymore. "Especially if Holly would be willing to testify. If this goes to court, Jordan, you might be subpoenaed as well, since you heard a good bit of her confession in regard to Evans' role in her husband's murder."

"Joy. This vacation has turned into the gift that just keeps giving." She rolled her eyes and sighed, standing to take her plate to the sink. Her mood had deteriorated rapidly, and she really just wanted to go upstairs and lie down.

"I guess the good news," Michael pointed out, oblivious to Jordan's change in emotion, "is that Gooding and I can go ahead and take all of this back to Providence with us. Can we take Whitaker's body with us, too, Doctor Cavanaugh?"

"Jo actually already called to make arrangements for that," Woody answered for her.

"Wonderful!" The other man clapped his hands once and helped to gather up the rest of the dishes. "I guess we should be on our way, then. We've made reservations at a hotel in town if you need us. Should we go ahead and take all of this…?"

It took another thirty minutes, but before long, the two new detectives had everything on Paul's murder boxed up neatly and ready to be loaded into their sedan. They would be stopping by to see Stone to get all of his files as well before turning in for the night, and that was the only part Jordan would miss seeing. But she certainly had no misgivings about washing her hands of this whole case. If this had happened in Boston, that would be a different story, but as it was…she had wanted nothing to do with it from the get go. Woody had almost died because of this damned mess; she would _never_ forgive Evans for that.

Unaware of the cause for her brooding thoughts, Woody stood in the doorway of the kitchen after seeing their guests out and watched her silently rinse the dishes to put in the dishwasher. Her back was to him, and he found it hard not to be somewhat mesmerized by the way she moved when she didn't realize someone was studying her. The way her straightened chestnut hair fell gently over her shoulders when she reached under the water for the sponge, or the way her finely sculpted biceps flexed when she scrubbed at a particularly stubborn spot on a plate. It was so domestic – and so very unlike any situation he had ever seen her in. And she was still so stunningly gorgeous.

"What're you starin' at, Farm Boy?"

Okay, so maybe she knew he was there after all. But for the first time in a while, he wasn't embarrassed to have been caught staring. "You," he answered shamelessly.

"Yeah?" she murmured, not bothering to look at him. "Well, get over here and help me with these dishes. I'm not a maid, you know."

But rather than dunk his hands in the soapy water, he came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist so that he could bury his face in her hair. He took a deep breath, pulling the scent of her – a mix of shampoo and lotions and something only describable as _Jordan_ – into his lungs where he wished he could keep it forever. She turned her head just enough so that her cheek touched the side of his face, and her lips twitched upward, her unpleasant mood beginning to lift. They stood like that for nearly five minutes, just basking in one another's presence, before Woody finally spoke.

"So," he whispered, the word a puff of air against the cusp of her ear. "You're my girlfriend now?"

Jordan chuckled and swatted at him playfully before picking up another plate to rinse. "Don't get so exited. I hate that term. It's so…I dunno, so high school. But, I guess – sure. Just don't go around calling me that in front of people we know or I might hurt you."

"Point taken." He leaned forward again and pushed her hair to the side to kiss the back of her neck, sorely tempted to pluck that plate right out of her hands. "Do we have to do the dishes now?"

"We can't exactly leave this place a mess when we leave tomorrow, can we?" Eager to feel more of his touch, she took some of the weight off her legs and pressed back against his chest. He tightened his grip on her as she did so, and she turned just enough to quirk an eyebrow at him. "My way of thinking? We get everything cleaned and ready to go now, and we can stay in bed doing whatever we want until five o'clock when we have to get in the car to head home. Okay?"

"Okay."

Her smile turned into a smirk. "Then go upstairs and throw our stuff into our bags, since you're not doing anything to help here. I'll be done in a minute."

Woody hastened to comply, leaving her at the sink as he went up to their shared bedroom to pick up whatever personal items had been scattered around. Just clothes, really. The toiletries he left in the bathroom to deal with later, but everything else he shoved into their suitcases, not even pausing to sort her things from his. _Hopefully,_ he thought to himself, _I can convince her to let me stay tomorrow night_. Though, if her actions downstairs were any indication, she didn't seem all that rushed to get away from him. Not like she had been in the past.

He would fall asleep with her in his arms tonight, and again tomorrow night, and very possibly every night for the rest of their lives. And then he would wake up to see her smiling face every morning. He may as well be the happiest man in the world. Six years chasing her, and he was still just as in love with this perfect woman as he had been that very first day.

It had been a long time since Woody had let himself dare to hope things would work out well between him and Jordan. Their dance had led them around and around for far too long, and if he had a dollar for every time someone had told him to give up, he could have retired from the Force already. But somehow fate had always thrown them back into one another's path and now…now they could both be happy.

Together.


	13. Chapter 13

**Well, here it is – the last chapter. _Wonderland_ is finished!**

**Thank you to everyone who has read through it all, and thank you especially to all of you who reviewed. I can't tell you how much I appreciate you sticking with me through that, um, rather long disappearance.**

**As I said last week, I have more writing to share with you, so add me to your Author Alerts or keep an eye on the main CJ Fan Fiction page.**

**Thank you again for the fun times, everyone! I will see you soon.**

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I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.

_Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, _Lewis Carroll

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**Chapter 13**

**Epilogue – Three Weeks Later**

Jordan signed the bottom of her last autopsy report for the day and slid it neatly into the file, folding it closed and leaning back in her chair to let out a long yawn. It had been a very grueling nine hours; the morgue was still understaffed, since Garret hadn't returned to work yet. Bug had come back just two days after Jordan, but then Nigel had been given a week off, and then Kate – who was currently still away, leaving a very frazzled Jordan to look after things in both hers and the Chief's absence.

She certainly understood Garret's reasoning for not wanting to leave her in charge anymore, but that didn't mean she was happy about it. She liked being "Second in Command", even if she had honestly not given any thought to one day being the _actual_ Chief. In her mind, Garret was always there, always in that position. If she was a medical examiner, then he was the Chief M.E. Always. Others would come and go. Trey, Elaine, Peter. Devan. Garret was her only constant in this world of chaos. She missed him.

"Throwing sharpened pencils into the ceiling tiles again?"

The soft voice from her doorway startled her, and she fell forward in the chair. The very man she had just been thinking about was standing there, his arm in a sling and likely wearing a brace under his shirt, but looking no worse for the wear. She jumped up, an elated smile opening on her face. "Oh my God, Garret! What're you doing here?"

"I had to pick up some forms to get ready to come back to work on Monday and saw you in here, looking ready to fall asleep." He smirked at her, coming into her office and lowering himself gingerly onto her couch.

Incredibly pleased to see him, Jordan walked around her desk and plopped down onto the sofa next to him, poking his side and feeling that there was, indeed, a brace there. "Monday, huh? No one even knew where you were, man. You practically dropped off the face of the planet after you left the hospital." She slipped her hand into his and squeezed it tightly in a show of companionship.

"I needed some space," he told her softly, squeezing her hand in return. "Think some things through. I'm not leaving, Jordan. Not for good. Or at least, not yet."

"Good." Surprised at the amount of relief she felt, she let her head fall onto his shoulder. "I'm glad you're here."

"So," Garret said jovially, changing the subject, "word around the water cooler has it that you and Woody are suddenly living together. What exactly happened up on that mountain? You're not pregnant, are you?"

Jordan let that roll off. She and Woody hadn't talked about the no-baby thing yet, and she definitely hadn't spoken to Garret about it; he had no idea how much potential that one joking question had to hurt her. So she just laughed obligingly. "No, Garret, I am not pregnant. But yes, he did ask me to live with him."

"And you actually said _yes_?"

"Why the hell are you so surprised?" She raised her head to glare at him. "I mean, really. I think Nigel's head almost exploded when he found out, and I didn't even _tell_ him! He was just being nosy in my personal business. And you should have seen the look on Bug's face when Nigel told _him_. Besides, Woody and I aren't actually living together permanently yet; he still has the lease on his apartment for five more days. All of his stuff hasn't even been moved in yet." Jordan paused in her make-believe tirade and shrugged. "I guess I'm just ready to get going with my life. In the right direction this time."

Garret chuckled and pulled her head down to kiss her hair. "I just keep thinking about the whole Tyler fiasco, that night at dinner. But you know, if anyone can tame that wild streak in you, Woody can."

"Woody isn't going to "tame" _any_thing," Jordan scoffed belligerently, letting her boss put his arm comfortably across her shoulders anyway. "I just love him, that's all. It's not like it's a big deal."

"I never thought I would hear you admit those words out loud, despite how blithe you're trying to be about it all."

"Yeah? Well shut up." But she shook her head and gave him a closed-lipped grin.

"Are you sure you're ready for this, Jordan? Woody adores you; everyone knows it. I would hate to see you self-destruct because you rushed into something too soon. Honestly, I'm not sure if either of you could recover from another blow like that."

Jordan was silent for a long moment, considering his words. She had thought about it a lot since coming home from Rhode Island. But, no matter where her mind went, the conclusion was always the same – she wanted to be with Woody, one way or another. Truth be told, she had wanted to be with him for a very long time. "When we were in Warwick," she told Garret calmly, "and he asked to move in, I told him I wanted to take it slowly. Because, as much as I wanted it to happen, I was scared. But then, when we got back? I called him not ten minutes after he dropped me off and asked him to come back to my place. Turns out he hadn't even left my parking lot." She couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up out of her throat at the memory. "We haven't spent more than two days apart in the last three weeks. It feels…good, being with him."

"It's about damn time," Garret mumbled. "Does Walcott know?"

"What? Why does Walcott need to know about my personal life?" Jordan whined with a scowl.

"You and Woody can't work together anymore. You know that."

"Yeah, yeah." She leaned against his arm to press back into the couch, eyebrows knitted defiantly. "I'll just bring it up with Reneé the next time we have some girl talk. Come _on_." But then she pursed her lips and sighed in annoyed agreement. "Woody's actually already started requesting a different M.E. to respond to his calls. Or at least letting dispatch know that it's him so that I won't get drawn. Which is a shame; we were such a good team."

"You're _still_ a good team," her friend corrected gently, giving her shoulders a little shake before she could start moping. "No one ever said you can't discuss cases anymore. Just that you can't work on them officially together."

There was a soft rap on the open door to her office just before Woody himself poked his head inside. "Hey, Jo, are you ready to – oh, hi, Doctor Macy!" He beamed ear-to-ear, seeing the two of them sitting there on the couch, and came into the room. "How're you doing?"

"I'm doing all right, Woody. Thank you for asking." Garret smirked at him and removed his arm from Jordan's shoulders. "I think I have a decent idea of how _you're_ doing. Are you two heading out for the night?"

Woody's face turned scarlet at the insinuation, and Jordan started to chuckle as she answered her boss's question. "Yeah," she said, getting to her feet and stooping down to give Garret a hand up as well. "We were going to go grab some dinner before going home to crash. You're welcome to join us, if you want. For the dinner part, not the crashing part."

"I appreciate the invitation, but I will have to take a rain check. Abby's waiting for me." He pulled Jordan into as tight an embrace as he could, given his injuries, before turning to Woody and giving him a stern look. "Since Max is still M.I.A., I guess I'll be the one to tell you to take care of her, not to hurt her, and all that. Now get outta here, lovebirds."

Jordan gently smacked Garret's arm. "Oh, stop."

He grinned at them and gave her a shove toward Woody, who had already taken her bag and jacket from the coat hook by the door like the gentleman he was. "Ready?" the detective asked softly, all of his attention now on her and her alone as she stepped close and looped her elbow with his.

Garret came up and clapped the other man on the back. "Just kiss her already," he muttered, nodding goodbye to Jordan and walking past them into the hallway. "No need to hide that _here_."

Woody watched him walk away with stark embarrassment, but Jordan just burst out laughing again. "You know," she said as she led him out into the hall and pulled her office door closed, "he does have a point there." Without waiting for him to respond, she reached up to wrap one hand around the back of his head, tugging him down for a very brief, very chaste kiss.

"Let's just grab some take-out," he whispered after a moment, enveloping her waist with his arms as they waited for the elevator. "I'm ready to go home."

"I like the sound of that, Farm Boy."

**End**


End file.
